


The Family Upon the Lake

by ClassiqueMystique



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe- Man and Elves were allied prior to BoFA, Anal Sex, BAMF Bard, BAMF Thranduil, Bard's canonical wife doesn't exist here, Bottom Thranduil, Caring Thranduil, Elf Culture & Customs, Flirty Thranduil, M/M, Moderate Sindarin usage, Mpreg, Parent Thranduil, Post Mpreg, Pregnant Sex, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Smitten Bard, Still adding more tags, Top Bard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-03-05 07:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3111836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassiqueMystique/pseuds/ClassiqueMystique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard dislikes it when Thranduil leaves him to return to his Greenwood realm, but the bowman manages to deal with it every time because the ElvenKing always brings with him a special gift when he returns...</p><p>Or, the story in which Bard and Thranduil fell in love</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Return of the King

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by my addled brain one night. I thought to myself that Sigrid and Tilda are pale enough that they could pass as elflings, and the tips of their ears were suspiciously covered in the films....lol.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!
> 
> P.S. Please don't flame me on the Sindarin usage. It's my first time so I fully acknowledge that I could have gotten something wrong. :p

Elves were creatures of a strange nature and Bard’s elf proved no exception. Thrice now the Elvenking had left his lover alone to pace and brood in a constant state of worriment. Thrice he has lost vast amounts of sleep, his body barely able to keep food within it because it churned anxiously. His only comfort this time was the presence of his daughter Sigrid, and his son Bain by his side to bide the time. Together they all stood atop his barge tied on the side of the river near the mouth of the lake.

Seven year old Bain pulled on the sleeve of Bard’s weather-worn coat. “When is he coming Da?”

Bard smiled down at him. “Soon I hope.”

Sigrid, ever radiant at age eleven, nervously picked at a stray piece of string on her dress. “I do hope he is alright.”

Bard tried to comfort his children with a warm smile despite his own bundle of feelings. “Elves are more resourceful than you might think. I have nothing but the utmost confidence in his abilities to remain safe. Besides, his people would move mountains to protect their king. Do not let his well-being trouble you.”

Still it was not enough. “I wish he didn’t leave,” said Bain with a pout. It was amazing how close the boy was to Thranduil. Bard remembered the day the Elvenking left, Bain had tears streaming down his cheeks, his hands clutched tightly in bountiful silver robes. He remembered the look of complete sadness in his lover’s cold steel eyes, could sense the hesitance in his being as if the elf wanted nothing more than to turn back and hold his family within his arms once more. It had hurt Bard’s heart that day when he had to pry his son off with tight hugs and whispered promises that Thranduil was not truly leaving them forever.

_Calm yourself Bain. He will return to us with the swiftness of a mountain thrush. And when he does, he will bring with him a gift most precious, you’ll see. But he needs to return to his realm for the time being where his healers can properly attend to him. The realm of men is not safe for him at the moment._

And he was right. It was not safe for him in the town upon the lake. The call for alarm came not from eminent danger— man and elves have lived side by side quite harmoniously for generations since the Second Age. And it had been years since Middle Earth had seen war of any kind, even though the Elves grew concerned that a growing darkness was spreading further and further towards them from the south. No, the true danger came from the unfamiliarity of men with Elvin culture and medicinal practices. His people may have become more accustomed to the Elves from their sudden presence within Laketown, but they still knew very little about them and especially even less on how to care for one in Thranduil’s condition. So the Elvenking had no choice but to depart to his homeland. But he always returned, managing to make Bard even happier a man with the gifts he brought with him every time.

Bain’s exclamation that he heard a rustling from the trees across the river tore Bard from his musings. Sigrid was equally alerted; both walking forward to the edge of the barge with their eyes peered forth ahead of them. “I think I see him Da. He’ll come from those trees over there,” Sigrid said with her fingers pointing towards two oak trees just off to their left. The abilities of his children never failed to amaze him. It took a few seconds for Bard to see any signs of movement, but soon all three were rewarded with the sight of the Elvenking alongside two other elves that Bard recognized as Legolas and Tauriel. His face broke out into the widest of smiles and he wanted nothing more than to bid the elves greetings and cross the lake to meet them. But he did neither for he knew that there were certain customs amongst the Woodland folk that he had to adhere to. So he simply wrapped an arm around each of his children’s shoulders and waited.

“I see him Da! I see him! Can we go over there,” Bain asked. If Bard did not have a hand on him, the boy surely would have bounced right over the side of the barge in his excitement.

“No Bain. He must come to us.”

“But why Da? Are you not happy to see _naneth_?”

The bowman looked to his son and tried to cheer him up with a smile. “Of course I am. He has been away from us for too long. But if you want _naneth_ to stay with us, then you have to follow traditions, okay?”

Bain nodded. He looked to his sister who also had a reassuring smile on her face. “Everything will be alright _muindor_.”

Bard looked across the river to where Thranduil stood, dressed in a plain white tunic and trousers , and with his simple silver crown adorning his forehead. He was unarmed but carried a small bundle of cloth in his arms. In contrast Tauriel and Legolas was dressed in dark green clothing with the Elvin prince carrying his traditional set of ivory-handled knives and feather wrapped arrows, and the redhead with her daggers in their hilts on her hips. If Bard did not know them, be would have proceeded with caution at the sight of them as they stood on the Rivers edge as modelesque as statues, yet with a presence beneath that promised strength and danger. But he was aware of their Elvin habits and so he left everything to the capable hands of his lover.

When Thranduil made his way over to a makeshift path across the river that consisted of the trunk of a fallen tree and a few well-positioned river rocks, Bard spoke to his two children once more. “Now take heed of what we spoke of earlier the two of you. You both must remain silent and rooted firmly in place when _naneth_ approaches until a signal is given to you. Do you understand? Not a sound or movement a single moment sooner.” His words were meant for Bain mostly because Sigrid was somewhat familiar with this process, even though she was merely four years old when she witnessed it the first time. Yet they both nodded in sync nonetheless.

When Thranduil made it safely onto the barge, for it did worry Bard to see his Elf cross the river without any security to his footing, he walked closer to the bowman until only a few feet separated them. They exchanged no words, only gazes that spoke volumes. Bard took in the sight of the Elvenking, noticing that while his outward appearance suggested nothing out of the norm, he held an air of exhaustion about him. He wondered briefly if the elf was still in pain, his question answered only seconds later when he caught the flash of a wince on the ethereal face as Thranduil lowered himself to his knees with his bundle still in his arms. He looked down at it for a second with the smallest of smiles before he placed the swath of cloth on the floor of the barge at Bard’s feet. Then he kept his head and eyes lowered, waiting for the Bargeman to make the next move.

Twas a custom among the Greenwood elves to place newborn offspring before the feet of their sire. The result would amount to one of two outcomes: if the sire picks up the child, then he acknowledges the child as his own. However, if the child remains on the floor and the father turns his back on it, then both childbearer and child are disgraced eternally. Thus far for the Elvenking, it was the third time that he had knelt before his human lover and he had yet to see the rejection of a broad back staring back at him. For merely a few seconds later Bard was bending over and scooping child into his arms, unwrapping the silk swathing to reveal the sight of a pale-skinned, brown-haired daughter peering curiously up at him with eyes as brown as the earth but with a hint of steel in them.

“I take it that she meets with your approval,” Thranduil said quietly. Bard huffed out a laugh and maneuvered his daughter into one hand so that he could use his other one to pull his lover up from the floor and pull him close. “Any child you bestow upon me would be met with my approval, beloved, because they came from you,“ spoke Bard from the heart. Thranduil visibly relaxed at Bard’s words, and the man found that action so heartwarming that he placed a kiss upon the Elvenking’s lips.

Then he signaled to his lover that their other children stood waiting as patiently as they could to be acknowledged by the blonde elf. Thranduil turned to them, assessing them in mock seriousness before his expression warmed considerably and he opened his arms to them. Bain reached him first, grabbing him tightly around his waist. Sigrid was much gentler, hugging his side from her place under his arm.

“We missed you _naneth_ ,” said Sigrid.

He placed a kiss atop her head. “And I you. _Ledhed naegra 'ûr nîn.”_

“Then never leave us again,” Bain chipped in.

Thranduil smiled. “If I am to never leave _Ionneg,_ then I will not be able to gift you with more siblings such as the one your _Ada_ holds. Is that something you desire?”

Bain had the good sense to appear sheepish. “No _naneth_.”

“And that is very good for us indeed. Now I do believe that it is time for our new girl to be held by her older brother. Don’t you think?” Bard led his son over to the wooden bench on the barge and placed the baby within the boy’s arms while instructing him on how to hold her properly. Sigrid sat right next to him, patiently waiting for her turn.

In the meantime Thranduil had signaled to the elves on the riverbank and within seconds they made their way onto the barge. Legolas embraced his father and Bard briefly before taking a seat next to an over-excited Bain. ruffling his hair as brothers do. The redhead however, kept her distance. Bard noticed. “Tauriel, _Gi suilon! Gi nathlam hí.”_

She approached the bowman with a smile. “ _Gi hannon_ Master Bard. Congratulations on the newest addition to your beautiful family.” She acknowledged her King in greeting, and then went to join Legolas and the others. From the distance the couple overheard their eldest daughter comment on the baby’s beauty, her fingers lightly tracing over the tips of the baby’s pointed ears. It was a trait all of the bowman’s children had, and one he would always adore.

With their family in sight, Bard wrapped his arms around his lover, making a noise of contentment when the elf sank into his embrace.

“How was it?”

Thranduil uncharacteristically shrugged. The ways of men rubbed off on him. “Long and tiresome. She may be the child of an elf, but during her birth she proved the stubbornness of her sire. Hers was the longest labor yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Bard murmured into the side of Thranduil’s neck.

The elf turned in his arms with an expression of complete perplexity in his face. “Whatever for? I feel no regrets whatsoever, and if I had, then I never would have committed myself to laying beneath you in order to ripen with your children.”

Bard chuckled at his beloved‘s forwardness. “Well said.” He placed a kiss on the Elvenking’s lips. “She takes after your beauty. All of our children do in fact. _Agoreg vae._ ”

Thranduil looked away for the briefest of moments, his cheeks flushing slightly. “ _Le fael gûr nîn._ But apart from my fair skin and curved ears, our children were made in your image Bard. And that may suit them quite well actually.”

“In what way?” His lover’s words concerned him. He knew better than to brush aside anything Thranduil said. His words are always calculated and held within them hidden depths of meaning. But it appeared as though the blonde was not in the mood for sharing his thoughts at the moment. And its just as well that Bard knew that he could never press an issue with a Woodland elf.

“She hates the taste of wine you know,” he said instead, gesturing to the baby.

“Wine? You drank wine while you were in labor with our child?”

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “To help dull the pain. You do recall when I said earlier that I was in labor for _quite_ some time. I might be an elf but even I have my limits. Nonetheless it mattered not: with one sip of Dorwinion wine she promptly emerged like an orc out of Angband.”

“There are no longer orcs in Angband.”

“You know my meaning.”

Together they shared a laugh, Bard pausing every now and again to take in his lover’s beauty. Thranduil was quite lovely in general, but he held a thrall about him when he laughed. It was an vision that Bard reveled in because he was one of very few that could bring about such a reaction in the Elvenking.

Thranduil caught him staring and distracted him with a chaste kiss. “Name your daughter,” he murmured.

“You did all of the work beloved. Would you not prefer to name her?”

Thranduil blushed. “I would rather leave such a sizeable decision in the hands of _my_ king, as it were.” He turned again, pressing his back into Bard’s chest once more. “So name your daughter my king.”

Bard squeezed him tight in response. “Tilda.”

Thranduil hummed in satisfied agreement. Bard could barely keep the grin from his face. He ran his lips over the soft skin of his lover’s ear, whispering softly. “ _Gellon ned i gelir i chent gîn ned i lelig.”_

The response was immediate. “They shine so because they are privileged to fall upon you and our family.”

Bard did not have to see Thranduil’s face to know that there was a smile there wide enough to match his own.

 

**The End**

 

Translations:

  
Naneth = mother

Muindor= brother

Ledhed naegra 'ûr nîn = Leaving pains my heart.

Ionneg= my son

Ada= Dad

Gi suilon! Gi nathlam hí= I greet you! You are welcome here!

Gi hannon= Thank you

Agoreg vae= You did well

Le fael gûr nîn= Thank you my heart

Gellon ned i gelir i chent gîn ned i lelig = I love to see your eyes shine when you laugh

 


	2. Bard's Unexpected Journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! So based on requests, I've decide to expand this story. I have a few chapters (mostly) written already, and a few others outlined. Should be fun, and I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Also, the rating has changed, new tags have been added, and this is un-beta'd.
> 
> -CM

**How it all began…**

 

The Master of Laketown might have believed that he was accomplishing something of significance when he assigned the town’s barrel collecting duties to Bard. Or perhaps he wanted the outspoken ‘pest’ –the one constantly stirring up trouble and creating whispers amongst the townsmen in the streets—out of his meticulously styled hair. But it was of no importance to the young bowman. Bard quite enjoyed his time alone in the wilderness with nothing but the lull of the river and random encounters will small game and wildlife to pass his time while he waited for the Elvenking’s barrels to come bobbing down the steady waters. It was a job that required few skills, and a job that kept him away from the outcomes of corrupt politics and idle town gossip on his love life. If he could have his way, Bard would have made a home for himself by the river away from the others in Laketown, but it was not meant to be. The area held dangers that was oft spoken of, rarely seen, but full of reason to feel fear. Dark conjurings from the one they call the Necromancer, Orc packs patrolling areas farther and farther away from their spawning grounds…

And the spiders.

Giant spiders that were said to have taken to nesting in the ruins of Dolgoldur were now known to dwell in parts of the Greenwood as well. _Mirkwood_ now, as Bard’s people called it. It was the reason his folk kept far away from the area, and why he always travelled with a bow and full quiver when he ventured towards it. How effective those arrows would be in defense of his life when up against a massive spider, Bard was not sure. But something was better than nothing, a lesson that was soon to be proven all the more true.

The day, as it were, seemed to hold no hidden surprises. In fact, nothing seemed out of the norm. The sun was high in the sky with not a cloud in sight. It was the perfect day indeed to fish wooden barrels out of the river. Bard, with shirt, shoes and socks removed, was waist deep in the water when he saw the first barrel make its way down the current. It still had a ways to go before it got to him, so he took that time to peer through the water. It was clear enough for him to see his feet at the bottom of the river bed. Small blurs of gold, orange and blue fish swam by his feet, tickling him as they nipped at his toes. He wondered absentmindedly on the easy and peaceful lives fish lead. Easy that is, until a predator comes along and swops them up to make a meal of them.

A sudden ruckus in the trees across the river tore Bard away from the goings on in the water. At first he could see nothing more than the rustling of leaves on their branches, but soon the feeble wood gave way to a lone blonde elf who had his hands full with a giant spider. Without a thought Bard pulled himself onto the barge and grabbed his bow, leaping back into the water with it in hand. About half way across he stopped, pausing to watch in awe as the elf demolished the spider with a flurry of swipes from his daggers. The grotesque monster slunk to the ground with a final shrill, its many eyes focused on the one that took its life.

To say that Bard was impressed would be a gross understatement. For many, many years both the peoples of Laketown and Mirkwood have lived harmoniously with each other. It was because of that, that Laketown survived and trade relations flourished immensely between the two. The humans had fish, man power, and various ales to barter with, while the elves shared a portion of their harvests and wine, as well as culture and knowledge on all things ranging from their language, to military skills. Yet even with all of the interaction between the two races, twenty-year old Bard himself had not interacted much with them. It was not out of choice, but rather because his path never really crossed with theirs. And especially not with Thranduil’s.

Oh yes, Bard knew who he was—had seen him on more than one occasion from the safety of the shadows when the Elvenking made his visits into Laketown to hold discussions with the Master. He was a sight to behold: elegant, arrogant…..and beautiful. More beautiful than any Bard had ever laid eyes upon. He longed to be in the elf’s presence—to touch him even though his hands were dirty in comparison, and unfit to be placed upon flawless ivory-like skin and hair like wiry-spun gold. Even now on the shore line in simpler dress than what the human was accustomed to seeing, and lacking a crown, Thranduil remained forever radiant. His eyes like frozen topaz scanned the area, assessing any potential threats…..

And then those same eyes turned to Bard….

                                                                     And Bard forgot how to breathe.

A shiver ran down the mortal’s spine as those eyes remained on his persons, assessing every inch of him. It seemed as though the elf was surprised to see someone in the water looking up at him, if the widening of his eyes were anything to go by. At least it looked as if his eyes widened. It was hard to tell with elves seeing as how they rarely blinked. The Elvenking turned fully towards Bard, leaning closer slightly as if the action alone would help him see the human better. How silly a thought that was. Elves have eyes that can see for miles and ears that can hear much farther to match.

Yet apparently such senses were of no use when said elf unexpectedly collapsed to the ground. For as soon as Thranduil’s body hit the forest floor, a spider crawling forth through the trees came into view. It was still in the distance, but it was closing in on Thranduil fast. Bard couldn’t help but cast his eyes back and forth from the creature to the elf in hopes that the latter would somehow rise to his feet in time and ward off the impending attack. But the longer Bard watched, the more he realized that something was wrong and the Elvenking was in no position to fight. With his mind made up, Bard waded through the water, trying futilely to get to the elf in time. But his effort against the current made him move much slower than he wanted and within seconds the spider was looming over Thranduil and Bard was no closer to him. He swore from where he stood that he could hear the elf gasp when he realized the spider above him.         

Acting fast, Bard set an arrow to his bow, lining up his shot. He aimed for the space between the spider’s many eyes, but in the moment that he fired the arrow, Thranduil put in a last attempt to defend himself with his daggers and the spider reared up, Bard’s arrow only managing to graze one of its eight legs. He only allowed himself a second to grunt in frustration before he grabbed another arrow and drew it back, that one successfully finding its mark in the spider’s head when he fired. He gave a cry of satisfaction when the spider fell to the ground dead, but winced when the creature fell nowhere else but on top of Thranduil.

Rushing through the water and up the shore as quickly as he could, Bard made haste to the Elvenking, using all of his strength to push the spider off. It rolled down the sloping land and into the river. He watched it float away and shuddered at the thought that it might float its way into Laketown and scare a few of his townsmen half to death. Gods only knew what it would do to those already on death’s door.

Thranduil’s groan pulled Bard out of his thoughts. The Elvenking had his eyes closed with his brow scrunched as if in pain. As gently as he could, he slipped his arm under the elf’s back and pulled him up from the ground. “Can you hear me? King Thranduil, can you hear me?”

Topaz eyes locked onto Bard’s instantly. “You know who I am?”

Bard chuckled at the ridiculousness of the question. “Aye. I doubt there is a soul around for many a mile who has neither seen nor heard of the infamous, ill-tempered Elvenking.” It was clear that he had not stopped to think before he spoke, and he wondered if in his injured state, Thranduil would remember to have him executed later.

“Then it would seem I am at a disadvantage, as your name is one I do not possess.”

“And at a disadvantage you shall remain. Can you walk?”

If looks could kill, Bard would have been filleted alive. “There are many skills that an elf possesses _human._ I can assure you that walking is one of them,” the Elvenking sneered.

Bard looked over the elf, taking in the small puddle of blood pooling under his left ankle before he hefted him into a standing position and stepped back, hands raised and open. “Then by all means, walk.”

The elf would have fallen to the ground if it hadn’t been for Bard catching him in his arms when he tried to take the first step. “You were saying?” Bard mused. The bowman had no idea what made him so bold in his speech. Perhaps it was because in this light, Thranduil did not seem nearly as intimidating as he usually does. Or because he was without the company of his kin with their bows and arrows and sharp swords. Or maybe because Bard was dimwitted enough to care very little for his life. Either way, the elf was not in a position to kill him just yet, so he decided that he would continue to have his fun—fantasy fully fulfilled— even though surely every word spoken significantly reduced his already short lifespan.

“You have a very loose tongue for a mortal. Most tongues have an unusual way of escaping people, particularly when cut out,” Thranduil growled. Perhaps Bard really wasn’t smart to underestimate the injured elf. After all, an elf in any state is still an elf. And all elves are deadly. Nervously he laughed and carried Thranduil over to a smooth rock and sat him upon it. “I will see to it then, that mine isn’t _too_ loose.”

“You do that,” came the sharp reply. Bard chuckled and kneeled, his hands going to Thranduil’s injured foot. He began to unlace the boot when the elf asked him pointedly and as if offended, just what he was doing.

“You are injured. In order to see the extent of the injury, I will need to remove your boot.” Bard expected the elf to object further, probably appalled that a dirty mortal would dare to lay hands on such a pristine being, but surprisingly he kept quiet. When Thranduil dipped his head in acquiescence, Bard proceeded, albeit a lot more nervously. First he removed the silver, knee-high boot that in itself looked as though it was worth more money than Bard would be lucky to see in his entire lifetime. The white silk sock, soaked near the ankle in blood, came next. Bard delicately slid it down the slim leg, taking care to be gentle over the wound. Bard had to repress his gasp when it came completely off. The wound was not too deep, and it appeared to have stopped bleeding. But what took away his breath was the beauty of such skin that he had in his hand. If there was ever such a thing as a perfect foot, it was the one Bard currently held. Curious fingers spanned the length of it. Although covered partially in blood, Thranduil’s skin, akin to the purest of ivory was soft and unmarred. Toenails were manicured and well trimmed to perfection. His arch was high and well-shaped, wholly royal in all its daintiness. He traced a thumb over the arch, startled out of his thoughts when the foot twitched in response. Daring to look up, he saw cerulean eyes staring down at him, unblinking, yet filled with…what was that…amusement?

Flustered that he was clearly caught admiring the Elvenking, Bard cleared his throat and turned his attentions back to the wound. “The spider you fought bit you before it was slain.” Squeezing gently at the edges of the gash caused a thick black substance to ooze out. “She had time to inject her venom, though how much I am not sure.” He looked up apologetically. “This may hurt a bit,” he said as he began to knead the area around the wound in order to push the venom out. If the action caused Thranduil any pain, he certainly did not show it. Although for the briefest of seconds his eyes did close and his brow twitched.

After a few minutes venom gave way to blood and Bard stopped. Quite a bit of poison came out, but there was no way of telling how much was currently coursing through Thranduil’s body. Acting fast, he gathered up the elf’s sock and walked to the river’s edge, doing his best to rid the material of blood in the cool waters. Upon his return, he gathered a few leaves from nearby marigold and elderberry plants. “I’ll need to seal the wound and bind it quickly. These plants should abate the symptoms of the spider’s venom for a small portion of time. At least they would on a human; I’m not sure if they would have the desired effect on an elf. Nonetheless it best to try,” he explained when curious eyes glanced down at him. To prevent himself from flushing further, Bard kept on his task, chewing the bitter leaves into a chunky paste. “How barbaric,” Thranduil drawled. Ignoring him, Bard applied it to the wound and wrapped the sock over it, securing it with a knot.

“How far is it to your kingdom?”

“Nearly a candlemark heading due east.”

“Will you be able to make the journey on one foot?”

The blonde elf bristled. “Yet another moronic question, don’t you think?”

“Fancy another trip to the forest floor, do you?”

Thranduil glared. “I never fell the first time.”

“Only because a human dared to catch you. An act that may not repeat itself.”

The Elvenking limped forward, his finger making contact with Bard’s bare chest. “I am your King: I can order you to carry me all the way to the gates of my kingdom, if I so choose.”

Bard laughed. “I follow no one’s orders. And you are not the King of me. My own Master cannot control my actions or voice; you think you could do better?”

“So you prefer to rebel against the law I see. Very well, I can always have you captured and brought before your Master for meted punishment. How many lashes does he owe you I wonder?”

The bowman shrugged. “Oh I am quite sure that the Master of Laketown desires to see my head on a platter. So do your worst, _Elvenking._ Your threats do not frighten me, and I am a man with little to lose. I have no friends that would miss me at the pub. I have no family that would tend to my wounds, no wife at home to grieve over my passing if it is my time to depart. No children to carry on my legacy. I am but a simple man who collects barrels—your barrels— from the river for a living just to earn a few coin to fill my belly with fish and mead. If you find that my mere existence proves too much for your world, then I can only comply should you choose to end it.”

Thranduil appraised him—this audacious human before him— with unreadable eyes. “I suppose I will need your assistance as we walk, if you would not mind lending me a shoulder,” he said after a few moments.

Flabbergasted, Bard could only nod like an idiot and rush to the elf’s side, carefully lifting one slender arm to wrap behind his neck. Bard was surprised that he gave into his words so easily, that the elf didn’t put up more of a fight. And perhaps he was even more surprised that Thranduil did not resist his touch, even curling slightly in towards him when Bard wrapped a toned arm around his waist.

_He’s wounded, not interested, you idiot._

Still, in a bizarre turn of events, the simple bargeman had gone from admiring the elf from a far to holding him in his arms. He felt a strange sense of accomplishment at that, his hand subconsciously pulling Thranduil closer to him. If the Elvenking noticed such an action, he did not comment on it.

They began a steady journey into the forest in silence, Bard only giving voice to words when he needed Thranduil to chime in on the accuracy of their direction. But it was a pleasant silence as Bard got to focus on the lulling sound of Thranduil breathing next to him—of the slight shivers that ran down his spine whenever their hips grazed each other’s when they walked. However, as time passed, Bard began to notice how heavy the elf suddenly felt in his arms, and how they were no longer moving in sync.

“We must stop,” said Thranduil, the words thick with fatigue. Bard nodded, and led them over to a nearby log.

“Shall I check your wound?” Already Bard was reaching for the makeshift bandage when a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Not necessary. I find it difficult to catch my breath. A rest for a few minutes will do me good.”

“I do not think that wise. The faster I can return you to your people the faster they can heal you.”

Even with his fatigue, Thranduil managed to roll his eyes. “And pray tell how will I be able to manage that if I find my mobility becoming even more limited?”

“We shall proceed with your foremost suggestion: I shall carry you,” Bard announced. The blonde did not get a chance to reply before he was picked up bridal style by astoundingly strong arms, but he did squeak a bit.

“You are terribly bold, human.”

Bard only smiled and continued on their journey. He was amazed that for an elf of his stature, Thranduil was fairly light. Bard carried him with ease, and believed that he could do so for quite a distance yet. And thus he did, walking a swift as he could through the dense forest until he had nearly three miles behind him. It was as he approached the third that he quickly realized he had no way of knowing if he travelled in the correct direction. And Thranduil wasn’t much help to Bard either—for much of their journey the ailing elf was in and out of consciousness, only rousing if Bard’s footing stumbled a bit or if the human shifted him on purpose to gage whether the elf was still alive and breathing.

At this particular moment he was conscious…barely. “Where are we?” He asked, his voice fading fast.

Bard looked down at his charge. A light sheen of sweat covered Thranduil’s forehead, suggesting fever. Yet the Elvenking pressed further into Bard’s embrace as though he craved heat. The bargeman frowned, genuinely worried that the beauty he held would soon fade from this world. “For the moment I am not sure.”

“Blow the horn.”

“What?”

Thranduil gestured weakly at his waist. “The horn on my belt. Blow it. My people will hear it and find us.”

Bard placed the elf on the forest floor, cradling his head with his thigh. Hastily he unfastened the leather cord keeping a small ivory horn to Thranduil’s waist. He wondered why he hadn’t seen it before, but it wasn’t too much of a heavy thought on his mind because he hadn’t been looking for it. He blew it without a seconds delay, moving back to the king when it was done. Thranduil immediately curled into his embrace, eyes closed and teeth chattering lightly.

“Hold on my king.”

Brow scrunched in anxiety, the Elvenking made mumbled noises, something akin to “Not your King, ‘member?” Bard chuckled, but shushed him as softly as he would a child. He stroked a pale cheek, and whispered soothing words into the curved ear closest to him, smiling when Thranduil visibly settled down by the sound of his voice. Bard didn’t know what made him do it, but he began to sing a tale familiar to him in a soft, deep melody. It was one he had heard as a child; one his mother used to sing to him when he fussed about occasionally. It was a song of a man who came across a stunning elf in the woods while hunting, and endeavors to return to the forest in attempt to woo the beauty. The mortal sings melodies, recites poetry, and brings flowers and gifts to his beloved every day, exclaiming his profound love for the gorgeous elf as best as he can.

Yet for many moons the elf does nothing. No gifts are accepted. No words are returned. The elf but listens to every sound—every uttered syllable from the mortal—before disappearing into the lush of the forest without speaking in kind.

With every passing year, a piece of the man’s heart withers away at the notion that his love is not returned. It is nearly his undoing to have someone so desired within reach, but inevitably unattainable.

But one night everything changes.

Thoroughly in despair, the mortal wanders into the forest to find that his elf for the first time, is not there. He waits until his torch is nearly extinguished, hoping to catch a glimpse of his beloved, but the flame dies and he is left alone amongst the darkness. He in turn begins to sing a somber tune of a broken heart and how he believed his entire life to be worthless without the one who has captured his soul. So the mortal allowed all strength to leave his body, content only in the knowledge that his life would end where it had seemingly began: where he first laid eyes on his soul mate.

On the cusp of death, the final sight to greet the mortal is a sudden light emerging from the darkness—a pure white light. His elf returns to him in ethereal form, speaking to him for the first time since their initial meeting. The elf says that many years in Middle Earth has revealed the need to value the sorrow in the hearts of men, not their joy. For sorrow is all an elf, unyielding to the destruction of time, will feel when they gift their heart to a mortal lover only to watch them perish due to old age. So in the end, they could never be as one.

_“For together in love,_

_So shall we be_

_But apart in life_

_Is our destiny.”_

Bard finished the song; content to see that Thranduil seemed calmer than before, shivering only slightly from his affliction. Taken once again with the Elvenking’s beauty, Bard never heard the other Woodland elves closing in until they were right upon him, a blade on his neck and arrows pointed at his head.

“Do not think I won’t kill you mortal. It would be my pleasure,” said the elf beside him. Bard winced when the blade pinched his neck, no doubt drawing blood. “For merely touching the Elvenking, as you continue to do so, is grounds for immediate death. Now tell me mortal, what have you done to him?”

Bard thought on his next words carefully. It didn’t take much common sense to realize that the one addressing him was Thranduil’s son, Legolas. After all, apart from the king himself, no one could carry such an air of regality in similar fashion unless they were of the same blood line. That, and there was the blonde hair…

“My Lord Legolas, I came to King Thranduil’s aid after he’d been attacked and poisoned by a filthy spider from Dolguldor. The King bravely battled each and every spider that crawled towards him inanely attempting to test their might against such a gifted swordsman. He slayed them all efficiently, but fell to moment’s distraction where the remaining spider, hidden in the trees like the cowardly beast it was, surged further and injured him.”

Bard gestured to Thranduil’s leg. “I tried to bind his wound as best as I could, but I am no healer and never would I presume that any ministrations performed by the hands of man could heal a being such as him,” he said softly, glancing down at the unconscious elf in his arms. When Bard looked back up, he noticed Legolas watching him carefully, his aged blue eyes making Bard feel like an infant in comparison.

 _I am an infant in comparison_ , Bard thought worriedly. What would one mortal life mean to an elf? Nothing surely. They could find reason to extinguish his meager existence right there on the forest floor and no one would be the wiser. No one would complain. No one would miss him. In fact, the only one who might give thought to his disappearance was the Master of Laketown and only for the briefest of moments before all thoughts were drowned out by mead in celebration; the bane of his existence thoroughly removed from this world.

Even looking down at himself now, Bard thought himself to be a dodgy vagabond. In his haste to protect the Elvenking and get him to safety, he had forgotten his shirt, shoes and coat on his barge. His arms and feet were covered in dirt and leaves, and his back had endured a multitude of cuts and scratches from outreaching branches along his journey. He was not the sort of person to be handling a King.

“You have done enough,” said Legolas, breaking Bard from his thoughts. The Elvenprince turned to his kin, gesturing to his father with slight urgency. “Boe de nestad. Gwaem.” Immediately four elves stepped forward, removing Thranduil’s unconscious form from Bard’s embrace. The others formed a protective barrier around their king, hands firmly on their bows or swords in case of attack. Then they moved forward, leaving Legolas to bring up the rear. He followed along wordlessly, his eyes moving from the form of his father only once more to nod respectfully at the human still crouched on the forest floor.

Then just as quickly as they came, the elves vanished, leaving Bard with his whirlwind thoughts and with a single question on his mind.

 

Would he ever see the beautiful Elvenking again?

 

**TBC…**

 

Translations:

 

Boe de nestad. Gwaem.   We need to heal him. Let us go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? Worthy enough to continue on? I hope I still have a few readers seeing as how the films are now over. Oh well, if you liked this then give me a shout out in the comments below. And as always, I love you all! :D
> 
> -CM


	3. An Elf Thing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, thank you so much for the awesome feedback! I'm thrilled that people have read and liked this story. You guys rock!!!!
> 
> Here's a quick chappie. Much love! :)
> 
> -CM

 

**3**

 

It was yet another day upon the lake for Bard. After fishing out the Elvenking’s barrels from the river, he lingered still, stripping off his clothes and shoes to have a quick bath. The cool waters felt refreshing upon his heated skin, the sun having been unforgiving in its strength today. He ran a washcloth that he fashioned out of an old pair of trousers over his arms and chest. The weather, though scorching, promised good things. Soon the lake would host an abundance of fish and the crops on the mainland will prove fruitful to ensure his people’s survival for another year. They might even produce enough to use as barter in trade with the elves for cloth and wine.

 

Ahh…the elves.

 

Bard turned his gaze to the forest—to the exact location King Thranduil had stood before he was attacked by giant spiders. Three weeks had passed since that terrifying incident. Bard wondered what had become of him—if the elf still drew breath on this earth. Many times he found himself staring out towards the greenwood, waiting for longer than he would care to admit in hopes of catching a glimpse of Thranduil. But then he would regain sense and move on, ferrying the discarded barrels back to Laketown in a solemn silence.

 

Was he foolish enough or plain stupid to think that a king such as Thranduil would be bothered to visit such a lowly mortal as himself when he had other responsibilities? When he had an entire race of people to care about? Was he so self-centered to think himself someone that Thranduil would take notice of if their meeting had been one of normal circumstance?

 

Bard frowned. That last thought seemed least probable. Thranduil needed him that day because he was the only living being around that could offer him assistance. Nothing more. Yes, of course that had to be it.

 

Thinking was proving to be much more than Bard could handle, and the water, while was once soothing, was quickly turning him into a wrinkled prune. Grabbing onto a handle on the side of his barge, he heaved himself up and out of the water. He grabbed a small towel and dried himself off, his gaze down at his feet the entire time. When he did look up seconds later, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

 

He wasn’t alone.

 

Standing a few feet away was an elf that he was familiar with.

 

He quickly cupped his privates, shielding them sheepishly from view. “My Lord Legolas. Forgive my offensive state of undress,” he stammered once the shock wore off.

 

Legolas seemed unconcerned by it. “No offense taken, bargeman.”

 

Bard gave a small sigh of relief that he would not face any penalties for having accidently revealed himself to a member of Thranduil’s Royal family. _And his son no less._ For a few minutes they stood there in silence, Legolas’ eyes watching him, unblinking. Bard shifted from foot to foot, naked, and glancing desperately at his trousers that lay on a barrel behind the elf. To passersby, as unlikely as that would be on a lake, the scene before them would look comical. He hoped after a while that Legolas would sense his distress, notice the path of his gaze, and put him out of his misery by handing him his pants. But of course, he no such luck was granted. If fact, the gleam in the elf’s eye seemed to suggest that he more than aware of Bard’s distress, and enjoyed watching him squirm.

 

Bard sighed internally. Of course _this_ particular elf would have a cruel sense of humor. Mustering as much confidence as he could, he tried not to let his uncomfortableness show. “How may I be of service to you, my Lord?”

 

“I’ve come to relay a message from my father, the King.”

 

Forgetting himself, Bard let a wide grin spread across his face. “He yet lives?”

 

Legolas cocked his head to the side, his own face portraying a look of mild curiosity. “Why would he not?” Thankfully the question was not posed in anger, which eased Bard once more. In fact, Legolas seemed even more amused by him. It must be an elf thing.

 

“He was gravely injured,” said Bard cautiously. “I feared that he would not be brought to your healers in time.”

 

Legolas nodded. “Aye. His wound was grave, but fatal it was not. My father has faced worse foes than those filthy wretches. He shall live.”

 

“It warms the soul to hear such news.” With that divulgence Bard blushed, especially when the blonde raised an eyebrow. “Does it really?”

 

Bard answered with an awkward shrug. The gesture inspired a laugh from Legolas, who without looking away from the mortal, reached behind him to retrieve the discarded trousers. He tossed them at Bard who struggled but eventually managed to catch them in one hand without revealing his bits.

 

“I shall tell him that then,” said the elf.

 

As quickly as he could, Bard slipped on his pants, grateful that his guest diverted his gaze away. He felt better once they were on, but no less exposed. Those eyes, once upon him again, unnerved him. They were not cold per se, but…calculating—wise, even though to their kind, Legolas had only recently reached adulthood. It made him a little less comfortable than he would have preferred. And Bard snorted at that. How does one have a comfortable conversation with an elf?

 

 _You don’t, it would seem._ He rather failed at doing so with the father; how much footing did he hope to gain with the son?

 

“I hope the words used to broach the subject are kind ones. I do not wish to incur the wrath of your father unnecessarily.” A try was as good as any, the mortal thought as he strived to keep the conversation going.

 

To his surprise, Legolas laughed out right, the action so out of place from the characteristics of elves that Bard could only blink slowly.

 

“I think you will find that my father has something entirely different in mind when it comes to the likes of you, Bargeman.”

 

Before Bard could question as to what the young elf meant, he was presented with a bow in his face. Not loaded, you understand, but bore over flat palms as a gesture. “A small token of his gratitude,” the blonde said simply.

 

The mortal examined the bow presented before him. It was unlike any he had ever seen before. It was made of a dark wood, sturdy, and nearly that of iron strength. It had curious engravings etched into nearly every inch of its surface. When asked, Legolas said simply said that they were old Elvish words that still held meaning but were no longer spoken. Bard nodded at that but made no comment. He took the proffered bow after a round of many thanks, accepting a quiver full of white-tailed arrows when those were offered as well. Yet when they were fully within his possession, Bard could not help but to feel lost. Such a treasured gift should be returned with nearly one its equal. And not only that, how could he ever hope to master it with the skill that elves do?

 

Legolas took note of his extensive silence. “What troubles you Master Bargeman?”

 

“I know not what to make of such an extraordinary gift. How will I ever repay the compassion your father has shown me?”

 

Legolas smiled. “When he gave me the task of presenting you with this bow and arrow, his words on the matter ran less to that of it being a mere gift from the kindness of his heart, and more along the fact that the piece of twigs you currently call your bow is an abomination to the craft of archery.” Spotting the aforementioned bow laying currently against one side of the barge, Legolas grabbed it with wide, incredulous eyes. “Can’t believe this saved Ada’s life,” he muttered under his breath. Without any effort his snapped Bard’s shabby bow in half and chucked it into the water. “Father wanted me to do that,” he explained when he met Bard’s taken aback expression.

 

“Though I am relieved to see my old longbow gone, I am at a loss as to how I will yield one that is clearly much grander.”

 

Again Legolas did something uncharacteristic for his kind: he shrugged. “Where there is a will, one will discover a way. I would not make it a habit to doubt yourself and your abilities. After all, look at where they have led you.”

 

With that Legolas hopped onto the ledge of the barge and off again, landing gracefully onto the protruding river rocks that would guide him back to shore. About halfway there he turned to face Bard once more. “Oh, and my father wanted you to know that he and the elf of your song are quite similar in all ways save one.”

 

“Which one?” asked Bard curiously.

 

But Legolas simply smiled and continued on his way across the river, disappearing into the trees in a manner of seconds.

 

**TBC…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :D


	4. Strange Mortal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading my story and leaving kudos and/or comments. You are all amazing and I adore you! :)

**4**

 

“Oh for fucking crying out loud,” Bard screamed, once again finding himself naked on his barge and in the position of shielding his bits from the eyes of an elf.

“My my, what coarse language Master Bargeman,” came the amused reply.

Bard wanted to remain angry at being caught in such a predicament unawares… _again_ , but he found that he could not hold such emotion within him the longer he stared at the elf. In fact, he felt a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Do mortal men make it a habit to bathe in an open river unabashedly?”

“Only when they feel they might be afforded a bit of privacy,” was his smooth reply. Taking in the relaxed nature of Thranduil’s demeanor as he sat cross-legged atop one of the wooden barrels made Bard’s smile widen. He definitely appeared of better health— rejuvenated even. It was as if the debacle weeks ago had not occurred at all. Even the elf’s attire was as casual as it had been when he saw him last. He wore only a long-sleeve beige tunic with silver trimming and matching leggings. They were accompanied by a pair of dark brown, leather boots that stretched to Thranduil’s knees. He carried only a pair of daggers, which were in their hilts on his hips, and this time he wore a thin silver crown with a moonstone in its center across his forehead. Bard shook his head. “Privacy it seems, that will no longer be granted to me.”

“Do you wish for me to leave Bargeman?”

The words just slipped from his lips without his control. “There are many things I wish for in this world. Being without your company is not one of them.” When he realized what he said, Bard stammered to add; “For I have waited quite some time to see how you were faring.”

Thranduil tilted his head like a deer listening to the wind. “Have you now?” When the mortal failed to reply, the elf smirked. “How interesting,” he drawled.

Bard refused to take the bait any further. “Of that I’m sure,” he said with an air of challenge. “Now may I kindly ask of you to release my trousers from their entrapment beneath your rear end?”

Thranduil blinked, wiggling around on the barrel almost obscenely. Then he lifted the pair of pants from under him with an expression plastered on his face that Bard was nearly positive was feigned surprise. “I had wondered why this barrel was overly uncomfortable.” He turned to the mortal. “Is this what you are after?”

Bard nodded and went to reach for them when Thranduil stood to hand them over. Yet somehow, an object invisible to the eye was conjured out of thin air causing the elf to uncharacteristically stumble into the side of the boat, his hand opening and releasing the grey pants into the water _involuntarily._ They watched as it was carried away from the boat by a small current and into the open river. Bard suppressed the urge to snort at the elf’s antics.

“I apologize Master Bargeman. It would seem that my clumsiness has lost you your trousers.”

Bard snorted at that.   _Clumsiness indeed. Two can play that game._ Feeling unusually bold, driven even further by the elf’s challenging smirk, Bard approached him and placed one hand on either side of the lithe body. If he calculated wrong, and Thranduil was indeed not flirting with him as he was lead to believe, then he would be unsurprised to see his now exposed bits floating in the river alongside his pants.

Bard dared the elf to look lower on his persons, and was torn between feeling relieved and disappointed when he did not.

“And pray tell, what has my recent misfortune earned you?”

The Elvenking didn’t miss a beat. “Sights for my amusement, as it were.”

The bowman feigned hurt. “Oh your words wound me. Amusement? Nothing more? Nothing,” he inched closer, “more intimate?”

There it was: the defining moment. Bard tried not to let his nervousness show—hoped and prayed that the beads of sweat running down the sides of his neck would be mistaken for river water and not for what it actually was. Instead he somehow managed to conjure up a smug look, forcing his eyes to challenge and defeat the piercing ones of the gorgeous elf before him.

It paid off.

Without losing pace in their banter, Thranduil pushed his body forward, sealing the miniscule gap that was left between them. His thigh slid up between the mortal’s, rubbing deliciously against the growing hardness it found there.

“And how would you define intimate, Bargeman?”

The mortal’s breath hitched, his hands gripping the sides of the barge tighter still. “Quite similarly to how you’ve just displayed it,” he managed to get out in between waves of pleasure. That powerful thigh felt positively delicious against his aching cock, but he deduced that a hand would feel even better. Lifting one of Thranduil’s own, he placed a gentle kiss across soft knuckles, internally delighted to hear the smallest of gasps in return. Bard then placed said hand upon his own chest, noticing the stark contrast between his tanned skin and Thranduil’s pale complexion.

It was beautiful. Thranduil was beautiful. The moment they currently shared was beautiful.

But it wasn’t right.

This wasn’t how Bard wanted this to happen. He wanted to pursue the Elvenking properly as he deserved. A few passionate words spewed forth between them in such a manner seemed thoughtless. He wanted a proper courtship—to woo his elf everyday for the rest of his life.His attempts should be meaningful and deliberate, much like the man in his song to his own elf.

Determined, Bard pulled away from his tempter and the delicious sensations he produced. He ignored the elf’s confused expression long enough to pull on his shirt and spare underpants. “Yet I take it that you have not ventured so far from the safety of your kingdom to be ravished by a randy human. And surely not in a place where privacy will not be afforded,” he said with a knowing grin.

Thranduil leaned back against the side of the boat, his long blond hair whipping over the ledge in the soft breeze. His eyes danced with laughter, but his contented expression never changed. “You are a strange mortal indeed.”

Bard simply winked.

Thranduil smirked. “My son tells me that you dislike my gift.”

“Dislike? No, not at all. It’s in fact too grand a gift. One I could never hope to repay in kind.”

The elf looked over his shoulder at the water below. “I yet live to see another day because of you Bargeman. That is gift enough. Have you set arrow to bow—tested its strength?”

“I must admit that I have not. It is a magnificent bow; powerful, deadly, and yet still graceful in its beauty. It’s power makes my steady fingers quiver. Much like they do in the presence of its former owner.”

“Is that what happened that day? After all, you missed your mark on your first attempt to kill the spider,” Thranduil stated, running his eyes over the entire length of Bard’s body. “Did I make your fingers tremble then?”

Bard swallowed around the giant lump in his throat.

“Do you always find yourself overcome by distractions of an appealing nature?”

“It depends on the distraction.”

Thranduil’s eyes flitted back to Bard, his gaze intense and inquiring. The bowman tried his best to hold that gaze, but the elf proved too much. The thrall he commanded was overwhelming. It nearly robbed Bard of his breath. In the end he had to look away, instead reaching down for his newly acquired bow. He traced the etchings on the smooth mahogany surface. “Such beauty,” he murmured. “What do these words mean?”

The Elvenking recited the words from memory, all of which fell on ears that could not make sense of them. When Thranduil realized that, he gave the smallest of laughs but still did not translate the markings. Instead he said; “ _Pedin i phith in anίron, a nin ύ-cheniathog.”_

Bard remained lost. “How do you say ‘I cannot speak Elvish’ in your tongue?”

Thranduil regained his erect composure, but was still noticeably relaxed. “You do not, because I shall teach you, just as I will teach you the art of archery.”

“You need not trouble yourself. Surely you have far more important things to attend than to hang about with me.”

The elf raised an eyebrow. “Are you refusing a king?”

Bard snorted. “I’m not that foolish.” When Thranduil only continued to stare at him, Bard stammered to add; “well I’m not! I was only giving thought to you and your responsibilities.”

Thranduil only hummed. “I shall simply add your tutoring and training to my list of responsibilities.” When the human tried to protest again, Thranduil raised his hand. “It is done Bargeman. You are to meet me in the forest upon yonder hill every day at daybreak. There is an old white tree in the forest’s center. That is where our lessons will commence.”

Thranduil cocked his head, eyes twinkling. “Consider yourself fortunate. Not many have experienced what you soon will.”

Bard understood the meaning and immediately fell on bended knee, his head bowed. “It will be an honor to learn from you King Thranduil, and a privilege I shall not squander. But I cannot help but wonder how I shall ever repay such an overly generous gift.”

Thranduil walked over to Bard, placing a pale hand on his shoulder. It soon drifted up Bard’s neck and under his chin, those fingers pushing Bard’s head up so that they looked at each other.

“It has been many, many years since I have shared company with someone other than a fellow elf. It will be a refreshing change of pace, and that shall be repayment enough,” said Thranduil as he helped Bard into an upright position. “However, I need to now determine your existing skill level so that I may guide you on the right path to improvement.” He briefly looked around them before pointing to a fallen giant red tree on the shoreline. It looked like an easy enough target. “Find your mark in that dead sequoia.”

Bard loaded his bow, took aim, and let the arrow fly. He felt his heart soar at the thought that he would receive archery lessons from the great Elvenking, but quickly felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach when the arrow he launched whizzed right past the sequoia and into the dense lush of the forest… thirty feet away. He sheepishly turned to Thranduil who sported a frown of disbelief and muttered; “We have much work ahead of us.”

 

**TBC….**

 

Sindarin Translation

_Pedin i phith in anίron, a nin ύ-cheniathog._

I can say what I wish, and you won’t understand me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the chappie! There's much more to come!
> 
> Some things to ponder:
> 
> 1) What do you think was written on the bow? I'll reveal it later, but I'm curious as to your thoughts.  
> 2) The meaning behind Bard's childhood song. Just a song, or maybe a reference to something else? 
> 
> -CM


	5. Fortune Favors the Bowman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I <3 you all so much!!!! XOXOXO
> 
> :D

“Ground yourself. Put most of your weight in your heels. Then take a deep breath, set an arrow to your bow, and let it fly.”

It had been seven weeks since Thranduil came to visit Bard with the proposition of archery lessons. So far, the experience was amazing. It was a wonder that he managed to kill that spider months ago because his skills were so poor. But the Elvenking was surprisingly patient with him, using soft spoken words, guiding his every movement. He knew that couldn’t have been easy for Thranduil as it often took several reminders from the elf before he understood what he was supposed to do. But he would eventually get the task right and whenever he did, he would be greeted with one of Thranduil’s small smiles.

Yet make no mistake, while the experience was amazing for Bard, it was also nerve-wracking. To work in close proximity with the object of his desire made it insanely difficult for the bargeman to focus. Many times, he could feel the hardness growing between his thighs and the anxiety that Thranduil might notice caused beads of sweat to drip down his neck. Still, he would somehow find a way to harness enough concentration for the lesson, just as he did presently. Loading an arrow in his bow, he drew back and let it fly, watching as it came so close to, but inevitably missed the painted wooden target that Thranduil hung earlier in the day.

“Better,” Thranduil said lightheartedly.

“I do not understand how you elves make this look so simple,” Bard huffed.

“Elves are creatures of nature. They feel connected with the earth beneath their feet and they entwine with it. With practice, you shall be able to accomplish this as well, but in a different manner.”

“ _Ni ú-edhel_ ,” Bard grumbled, digging the toe of his boot into the dirt.

“ _Iston_ ,” Thranduil replied. “But your Sindarin is improving quite nicely. Now, do you know what went wrong with your last attempt?” Bard shook his head negatively. “You did not gage direction of the wind. Your aim was accurate, and your technique adequate, but if you attempt to draw against the wind, the arrow will fail to hit its target. Before you release the arrow, you must pause to ground your center and gage the direction of the breeze. _Tir nín_.”

Swiftly Thranduil drew his arrow, loaded an arrow and deftly fired it a few moments later. It found its mark in the dead center of the target.

“You make it look so easy,” Bard teased. Thranduil raised a brow. Bard outright laughed. “Let me guess, for an elf this _is_ easy, isn’t it?”

The Elvenking nonchalantly brushed his blonde hair over his shoulder. “Well any elfling can master the art of archery before they turn two hundred. The human equivalent to that age is 11 years old I believe.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.”

“Well you did ask. Now I shall draw another arrow. Come and stand directly behind me.” Bard did as he was told, even though his heart beat a little bit faster. “Closer. Place your hands on my waist.” When Thranduil loaded an arrow, he instructed Bard to run his hands up his back and over the length of his arms. “Can you feel how I center myself? Everything in your form should be straight except the arm that draws the arrow back. That arm should be perpendicular to the one holding the bow. Now feel as I take my pause.”

Bard struggled to follow along with Thranduil’s words, but he soon found them fading altogether under the pulse of his own heartbeat. Being so close to the elf was quite an intoxicating experience.

“You became distracted again, didn’t you?”

“I found it quite hard not to be, under the circumstances.”

“Then perhaps we ought to find a way to remedy that? We shall have a contest of sorts, and the winner of each round can stipulate a reward. I shall go first. Name three targets that you would like me to hit. If I do, then I require your name as my reward.”

Bard smiled. He had forgotten that in all their time spent together, he had never once uttered his name. But he was more surprised Thranduil hadn’t asked for it sooner. “My name you can have for free without contest.”

Thranduil smirked. “Make it interesting for me. What are your targets?”

Bard pointed to three apples on different trees in the far distance, thinking that they might give the Elvenking a challenge. But of course the blonde hit his mark each and every single time. And all without blinking.

“Bard,” the mortal offered in a stupor. “Bard _i eneth nίn_.”

Thranduil nodded. “He who has the gift of song. The storyteller. It is a fitting name.”

“ _Le hannon_. I am sure my parents thought the same every time I cried as a babe. Now my Lord, what targets shall you have me strike?”

Luckily for Bard, the Elvenking picked three boulders within his ability to reach. “But what will be your reward for each successful attempt Master Bargeman?”

Without thinking, Bard blurted; “A kiss!”

The look on Thranduil’s face was utterly priceless. For once his composed expression gave way to one of sheer surprise and disbelief. The sight made Bard’s cheeks and neck burn with embarrassment. “My sincerest apologies King Thranduil. I know not what came over me and caused me to utter such foolish words. Perhaps it is now best that we end our game so that I may depart for Laketown.” _With my shame._

But Thranduil’s words gently washed over him and kept him rooted where he stood. “Attempt your first target Bard.”

It took a few moments to comprehend what the elf said, but as soon as the message was understood, Bard was aiming to fire his bow. The arrow missed the first boulder by ten paces. He huffed in frustration that his excitement at the prospect of kissing Thranduil cost him one opportunity to do so. He tried again, pausing to ground himself and gage the wind. This time the arrow sailed just over the second boulder, missing it by what seemed to be a few inches.

Bard felt his grip on the bow loosening, his hands sweating in anxiety. Beside him Thranduil was deathly quiet, but the mortal knew that those Elvish eyes of his were focused on him and his every movement. He wondered briefly if Thranduil wanted him to succeed in this game or fail. Would he even want mortal lips upon his unblemished ones? Would he ever desire more?

Pushing those thoughts aside, Bard fired his last attempt at the third and farthest boulder. Time slowed in that very moment, each beat of his heart pounding louder and louder in his ears and he watched that arrow inch closer and closer to the rock. He almost wanted to close his eyes in fear of the outcome, whatever it may be. But he would not be a coward—not in this moment. He would either claim his victory like a proud man, or suffer in defeat as one.

 

Fortune favored Bard on that day.

 

The arrow connected with the boulder with a loud crack, the force behind it splintering the wooden shaft into many pieces. He lowered his bow slowly, still in astonishment that he had succeeded. He almost feared to look at Thranduil, knowing that if the elf shared a similar look of bewilderment, Bard’s whole world would crumble and fade.

But Thranduil had an almost satisfied look about him. Had he truly wanted Bard to prosper? “I believe I have something that belongs to you Master Bargeman,” he said smoothly, sauntering up to the mortal with purpose. “A kiss, was it not?”

Bard wet his slightly chapped lips, forcing his head to nod in affirmation. “Yes, I believe so. Unless you would like to suggest a less intimate reward?”

Thranduil smiled. “Whatever for? A win is a win. And the victor must reap the reward he’s earned. That _is_ what’s fair after all.”

Bard shouldered his bow, reaching up tentatively to brush a stray lock of hair away from Thranduil’s face. He ran that same hand over the smooth skin of the elf’s cheek, moaning softly by how soft it felt. His other hand drifted down to the Elvenking’s waist, using it as leverage to pull them closer together. Being of the same height, they stared directly into each other’s eyes.

“Claim your prize Bard.”

And he did. The caress of Thranduil’s lips against his own was so soft and inherently gentle that it felt not like a kiss at all. It felt as though the silkiest feather brushed against Bard’s mouth, teasing him with titillating temptation to delve deeper. Those few seconds were euphoric, filling the bargeman with utter ecstasy from his ears down to the tips of his toes. Bard ran his hands down the length of Thranduil’s back, thoroughly pleased when the elf shuddered in response and continued to move his lips along with Bard’s. Everything was perfect. So perfect in fact, that he was certain this moment between them would never end.

Until a horn blew in the distance.

Reluctantly they pulled apart, and Bard noticed Thranduil’s arms were encasing his waist, holding him just as close as Bard was holding him. They kept their foreheads pressed together, the only sound between them for a few moments was that of their breathing.

“Boe annin gwad,” Thranduil whispered.

Bard traced the underside of the elf’s chin with his thumb. “ _Iston. Prestad? ”_

But Thranduil didn’t answer. Like Bard, his mind was probably elsewhere. So the bargeman placed a final kiss on those sinful lips before pulling away, because if he didn’t then, he would never find a reason to.

“ _Na lû e-govaned vîn,”_ said Bard with a shy smile.

Thranduil returned a smile in kind, leaving Bard with the elvish farewell gesture before disappearing once again into the trees.

 

**TBC…**

Sindarin Translations:

 

_Boe annin gwad_

I must go.

_Na lû e-govaned vîn_

Until the next time we meet.

_Ni ú-edhel_

I am not an elf.

_Iston_

I know.

_Prestad?_

Is there trouble?

_Tir nín_

Watch me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was it? I hope their first kiss reads as sweet as I intended it to be. I really want Bard to bring out a different side to Thranduil: a softer side. 
> 
> I can't tell you how much I enjoy writing this fic. I am so happy that I decided to expand it. I'm trying not to make it too long, but there's just so much that I want to write about these two. So if I had to roughly guess, I'm thinking there's going to be anywhere between 15-25 chapters when this fic is finished. If anyone thinks that that's too long, please let me know and I will try to wrap things up sooner. :)
> 
> Much love!  
> -CM


	6. The Adventures of Bard Hood

**6**

 

“Alfrid here tells me that you’ve been causing something of a ruckus in the town as of late,” the Master spoke around a mouthful of ham hock. Bard currently stood in the Master’s sitting room. The man himself was seated in a plush, throne-like chair, his fat and grotesque feet propped up on a matching foot rest. A full plate of food rested on his massive belly, and Alfrid stood next to his chair with a glass of brandy at the ready.

Bard fought the urge to shove that massive piece of meat down the Master’s throat and watch him suffocate on it. “Does he really? And what type of ruckus has good Alfrid noticed?”

The Master laughed, but because he had a chunk of ham in his mouth while he did so, he found himself choking and coughing.

Bard snorted. Wish granted.

The Master rushed to grab the glass in Alfrid’s hands, the plate on his lap falling to the ground in all his flailing. All of that good food going to waste in a matter of seconds. Bard looked on in disgust as most of the brandy missed the Master’s mouth in his haste. He was the epitome of a pig to the bargeman—a gluttonous waste of space.

“Alfrid tells me that some of my supply carts have not made it into my personal stores, and that there has been no sight of them in Laketown. That is why I have been reduced to eating drivel such as that,” he said pointing to the mess on the floor and ordering Alfrid to clean it up. “And seeing as how you are the only voice of opposition in the town, I have to conclude that you are behind this heinous crime. Now tell me what you have done with my food!”

“I can assure you that I know nothing about any wrongdoings against you. This is the first I am hearing about this monstrosity. What can I do to lend aid? Would you like a bucket full of fish to help carry you over until your next delivery?” On the outside Bard was the perfect picture of innocence and sincerity. On the inside he was smirking his ass off.

“No, no,” said the Master waving Bard off. “Fish are for peasants. And I should have you lashed for even suggesting such a thing.”

Bard held his hand up, head bowed. “Many apologies Master. It was a careless proposal on my part. I will not make that mistake again. But you have my word that I shall come straight to you if I catch wind on the identity of the perpetrator.”

The Master sneered at Bard but eventually dismissed him from his presence. The bargeman bowed as twas customary and made his exit. Before he left he heard the Master disconcertingly say; “Nice bow Bard.” He looked at the bow perched on his shoulder and back to the Master, his head dipping in acknowledgement before he disappeared from the room.

The Master beckoned Alfrid closer. “I don’t trust him, nor do I find any truth in his words. Keep a close eye on him and have a few of our men watch his home. We will get to the bottom of this soon.”

Afrid grinned. “With pleasure Sire.”

****

“You’re late,” Thranduil said when Bard made his way through the trees and into the clearing where they practiced.

“My apologies Lord Thranduil. I was inauspiciously detained by the Master of Laketown this morning.”

The Elvenking raised an eyebrow. “On what grounds?”

“A few carts carrying supplies and food to his personal stores have suddenly turned up missing and he brought me in for questioning.”

“I do not understand. Why did he single you out of a town of many?”

Bard rested his bow and quiver on a nearby boulder and shrugged off his coat. “Because I am the only voice of opposition to the Master’s rule. He also despises the fact that I constantly call for an election by the people. They need a better leader than him. He is nothing more than a massive swine who knows neither politics nor proper leadership.”

“Alright,” Thranduil began slowly, “but why is there a need for opposition? Laketown is currently experiencing a time of prosperity that the mortals in this area have not seen since prior to the destruction of Däle.”

Bard laughed dryly. “If that were true, then my people would not have need of my newfound skills and the bit of peace it brings them,” he said with a wave of his bow. He loaded and arrow and turned to his first target only to have a hand on his shoulder push him back and another hand rip the bow from his grasp. When he looked up, he was met with a furious elf.

Ahh, so _that’s_ what the wrath of Thranduil looks like.  

“I do not impart my knowledge of archery for you to use your skills in a criminal fashion. You must demonstrate restraint Bard. Put aside your petty squabbles with the Master.”

“They are not petty! Every day the Master robs the people of Laketown blind. There should be enough money in the treasury to support the health and wellbeing of every citizen; enough food in the town’s keeps to ensure that no mouth goes unfed. So why are there still homeless amongst us? Why are there people and children dying every day from malnourishment? I am sorry Thranduil, but if wielding my bow can end the suffering of just one person, then wield it I shall without repentance.”

The look of bewilderment on Thranduil’s face was strangely gratifying for Bard. Everyone needed to know of the wrongdoings in Laketown. The elves could not be left in the dark any longer.

“But how is that possible? I travel to Laketown regularly to hold diplomatic relations with the Master. I’ve not seen any of what you speak.”

“Unfortunately you have seen only what the Master wants you to see so that you can continue to secure his luxurious living conditions,” said Bard solemnly. He began to tell Thranduil the real goings on of the town and how even though trade relations between the two realms is flourishing, few townsmen see the oats they sow. He explained that The Master gobbles up the money set aside for community growth and rebuilding. There are still people living with less food than they should and in homes that need patching. Children are going without proper education and the elderly are left to die while suffering instead of comfortably being put to rest. “You’re meetings with the Master are scheduled, therefore he has plenty of time to prepare for your arrival. He escorts the less “appealing” citizens to a portion of the town that he knows you will never visit, and keeps them there until you’ve departed. In fact, many of the “townsmen” that you encounter on your way throughout Laketown are actually the Master’s personal guard who were tasked to don regular clothing and appear as normal citizens. You have been deceived for many years Thranduil.”

The blonde’s face hardened considerably. “If what you say is true, then this callousness shall continue no longer. I will _personally_ see to that.”

“While I appreciate the concern, this problem is not yours my Lord. I will see to retribution for my people. For now, all I can do is support them with encouraging words and the Master’s supplies,” he said with a smile.

Thranduil still frowned. “A few tricks by bow and arrow cannot right a wrong this large. What shall happen if you get caught in the act one day?”

“Then my imprisonment shall inspire others to act. And they will inspire even more. And when we are finally strong enough, my people shall rise up and claim what is rightfully theirs: a life full of peace. The Master will not be able to withhold our happiness from us much longer.”

“Now,” Bard said as he gently reclaimed his bow from Thranduil. “Shall we proceed with today’s lesson? I can almost guarantee that I can hit an apple on that tree,” he said enthusiastically as he pointed to a gala tree in the distance. Thranduil hummed in response and encouraged him to try, but his thoughts were miles away…

…with the people of Laketown.

 

**TBC…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was it? Please note that I meant no disrespect to anyone when I wrote the Master's physical description. I just wanted it to come across in my writing that he is not a good person, and that he's a terribly greedy and gluttonous person. I have nothing against my fellow chubby bunnies. :)
> 
> Anyways thanks for reading, as always!!!
> 
> <3 <3 <3


	7. An Elf Scorned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever. Getting over the slug of the holidays was tough, and then life got in the way. Hopefully I can get back on track now. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy the new chappie! :D

**7**

 

The air in Laketown held a particular chill to it on the morn that Thranduil visited. He wandered around aimlessly and alone, letting his feet carry him where they will. No one could see him beneath the thick of his hooded cloak. No one could tell that there was royalty amongst them.

A part of him tried to let what Bard said wash over him. In spite of everything, he had his own people to mind after, and as a king, he had to care for his own before he could others. But to think that a group of people were suffering beyond what nature intended for them, was a thought that Thranduil could not tolerate. Bard’s passion fueled his own, and that’s how he found himself venturing away from his home, many miles away.

He hoped that what he would find would make Bard a liar. That the streets and wharfs would be full of happy and healthy faces that were going about their daily lives in joy and nothing else. That the harmonious sounds of children playing nearby would fill the air, and the mortal elders were sitting with them, singing merry songs and entertaining each other with their tapestry patterns and stories from their youth. That _is_ the sight that greets him on his planned visits after all.

But not on this day. It was as if the sun itself did not shine upon the people of the lake. What, did the Master command the sun too? Did he will it to hide itself away? Everything was damp and dreary, and the people—what few he did see—lumbered about without real purpose. The change was so shocking to Thranduil—pure night and day. How was this even possible? How could one change out the spirit of the town as they would their soiled clothes?

Eventually Thranduil found that he wandered into a part of the town that he had never ventured before, and the sight was even more dismal. This was what Bard spoke of: the part of town where the Master dumped his ‘less attractive’ citizens. There were many of them, mostly women, children and the elderly, huddled together in groups to keep warm in decrepit, wooden shanties.

One pair in particular made him stop dead in his tracks. In front of him sat a young mother, too frail, with an infant loosely held in her arms. She stared ahead, appearing fully lifeless if Thranduil did not catch sight of the slight rise and fall of her chest. Her child was in a worsened state—clearly undernourished. The Elvenking kneeled before her, pushing back the hood of his cloak. At first she did not turn to him—did not even blink. But then gradually her head moved, and she made eye contact with him, her eyes sunken and relaying little hope. She must have noticed who he was after a time, because she tried to dip her head as required and say something, but he softly cooed to her and stroked the side of her face. “My child, why are you both here, living amongst the rubble?” Before she could answer, he removed his water pouch and pressed it to her lips, urging her to drink slowly. When she later spoke, her voice was hoarse from severe dehydration, and the skin of her lips cracked and bled under newfound use.

“Master says there is no food. No place for us to live. Master says there is no place for retches like us in Laketown.”

Thranduil could feel the rage flow throughout his entire being. “Your Master is wrong. There is _only_ room here for the good men and women of Laketown.”

The baby cooed then, but the sound was more a soft wail of pain than it was of content. Thranduil picked up the child, holding him close to his heart. He whispered words to the boy in his tongue—a prayer for good health—before returning him to his mother. “He is hungry,” Thranduil said simply, lamely. Never in his thousands of years had he ever been at a loss for words. And he knew it did not help to point out the obvious.

She looked down at the infant in her arms. She could barely lift him; her arms were that weak. “I have nothing to feed him with. No milk to give. He will die first, and then I shall.” She looked at the others around her. “We will all die soon.”

“Yes,” Thranduil agreed, “You will one day face death, but it shall not be on this day, nor any day soon.”

Rising to his feet, he pulled back his cloak to reveal his bow and quiver. He launched an arrow into the air, feeling relief when his people saw his signal and fired back.

He then divided what lembas bread and water he had amongst the villagers, and wrapped his cloak around the mother and child to provide them with what warmth it could.

When he turned around his people was already there, Legolas and Tauriel included. He nodded to them as they took position next to him. His eyes could not be more open. His mind could not be clearer. His resolve could not be any stronger.

It was time to meet with the Master.

 

******

 

The Master was in the middle of guzzling an entire bottle of brandy when he heard Alfrid causing a ruckus, trying desperately to deliver word that Thranduil and company were behind him. But the speed of Elves was no match for him, so when he opened the study doors, the sight that greeted the Master was that of Thranduil’s men pushing Alfrid to the floor where he slid back a couple of feet.

“Alfrid, what is the meaning of—,” the glutton began before he noticed just who was standing in front of him. “My Lord Thranduil, what are you doing here? You were not due to arrive back for many months yet.” He tried to stand, but the size of his gut impeded the action, and he fell back into the chair with an ‘umph’.

“Why has my visit to Laketown inspired such a reaction in you? Am I not welcomed here?”

The Master stammered to find words. “But of course you are. We are very old friends, you remember. There is never a reason why one king would not be welcomed into another king’s home when they know each other as friends. It is just that we schedule our meetings for a reason.”

“And what reason would that be?” Thranduil asked tightly. “So that you could deceive me?”

The Master tried to break the tension with a smile. All that did was disgust the elves as he revealed his hideous teeth beneath them, and made the boils on his face more pronounced. “Why would I deceive you old friend? In what manner, and to what purpose? A deep relationship such as ours has to be built on trust Lord Thranduil. Without that, we have nothing.”

“I am not quite sure that I wish to be friends with a man who prefers to keep his impoverished citizens in inhumane living conditions. Why are some of your citizens without meals and proper dwellings?”

When the master feigned ignorance, Thranduil pointed out the specific location in which he found those people. “Oh those retches? They may appear innocent Lord Thranduil, but I can assure you that they are anything but. I do not consider those to be proper citizens of Laketown. If my prison had the capacity necessary to hold them, then that’s where they would be. The filthy animals,” he said as he drank his brandy.

Thranduil could feel his anger rising. “And pray tell what crimes would frail mothers and dying children have committed to be labeled as ‘filthy animals’?”

When the Master could say nothing in exchange, Thranduil stepped closer, his face a pure expression of rage. “From this day forward you will see to it that **all** of your people are personally cared for, because if I return and find that no change has been made, I will make sure that no one henceforth will refer to you as the Master of anything, much less Laketown.”

The Master’s face twisted into a frown of his own. “Who are you to threaten me in my own home? To tell me what to do? You have no jurisdiction in my town.”

Thranduil subtly wrapped a hand around a hidden dagger on his waist, but his son caught the movement and leaned forward. “ _Baw Ada_ ,” Legolas murmured. The Elvenking acknowledged him with a curt nod, reluctantly releasing his grip on the blade. Looking at the Master, Thranduil shuddered.

It would have been so easy…

“It was the compassion shown by a single mortal to an elf nearly six centuries ago that brought about our current peace treaty between our two realms. Since then, and with the added coincidence that history loves to repeat itself, my kin has sworn an oath to protect the well-being of the mortals in Middle Earth. It is because of said protection that you are allowed to remain on your perch of authority, wallowing in three lifetimes worth of gluttony. At any moment of my choosing, I can command but a fraction of my army to venture into Laketown and remove all traces of your rule.”

He walked over to the Master, nose crinkling at the smell of unwashed skin and stale food. “I could conveniently end your life as we speak—run my blade across the skin of your neck, slicing you from ear to ear. The act would be quick,” the Elvenking whispered. “But the cut not too deep. Your death would take hours to arrive as you’d slowly bleed out.”

Thranduil tutted as if a thought occurred to him. “But then that would cause such a mess, would it not? I would hate to burden any good soul with the task of cleaning up your filthy blood from the expanse of this beautiful floor.”

He righted himself, taking his place alongside his son once again. “So I will repeat myself only once more: you will make sure that all of your people are properly attended to from this day forward. Failure to comply will result in your death. I hope I’ve made my words clear enough for you to understand… _old friend_.”

 

******

 

“I’m beginning to believe that you elves live to startle us poor humans half to death,” Bard said, hand over his thumping heart, when he entered his house only to find Thranduil perched cross-legged on his bed.

“Well we must find ways to amuse ourselves, you know.”

Bard shook his head, throwing his satchel onto the bench near the door. “Clearly,” he drawled. “And I’m sure that this is the point in the conversation where a normal person would ask how you knew where I lived. But I suppose there’s no point in asking. Just an “elf” thing, I’m sure.” He paused as he shrugged off his jacket, his eyes raking over the gorgeous elf on his bed. Again he was informally dressed by Elvin standards, but looked radiant nonetheless.

Thranduil caught him staring and raised that infuriatingly perfect right eyebrow of his. “Yes?”

“I just find it so strange to see you upon a bed of worn sheets and in a house made of tired wood.”

“A woodland elf feels most at home surrounded by nature’s brethren. Hence the name.” Thranduil took a sip of something that was in the cup he held, and that’s when Bard noticed that the Elvenking had made himself quite comfortable indeed. His boots were off and placed on the floor near the bed, and he was currently drinking out of Bard’s favorite cup. “Unless your perplexity stems from the fact that I’m _in_ your bed.”

Bard grinned. “No, that seems to be the one thing that makes the most sense.” He leaned over, gently plucked the cup from the elf’s fingers, and brought it up to Thranduil’s lips instead. They maintained eye contact as Thranduil drank and continued further still when Bard later put the empty cup down on the nightstand.

“The wine tasted sweeter that time,” Thranduil said quietly.

“Oh? But now there is none left for me to try,” said Bard, feigning a pout.

Thranduil wrapped a hand around the back of Bard’s neck, pulling the mortal down until their lips were barely touching. “Isn’t there?” he whispered before closing the distance, locking their lips in a passionate kiss.

It was an oasis of sensations. A sudden burst of euphoria. The whole world around them could have gone up in flames and they never would have noticed. Darkness could have overtaken their realm and it wouldn’t have mattered. All that mattered was the delicious slide of tongues, the wet smacking of lips, the urgency in their beings to get closer to each other.

But Bard broke the kiss moments later to catch his breath. He buried his face in Thranduil’s neck, dragging his lips over every inch of soft skin there. “Why are you here Thranduil?”

For the second time in one day Thranduil found himself asking the question, “Am I not welcomed in your home?” Though this time there was nothing but amusement in his tone.

Bard nipped at the tender skin behind Thranduil’s ear, smirking when the elf moaned in response. “I meant here with me—seeking comfort in my presence. Please do not feel that you owe anything to me because of my meager efforts to help you in your time of need all those months ago.”

“Is it so unreasonable to think that I might choose freely to spend my time with you? After all, you aren’t so bad…for a mortal.”

Bard chuckled. “Thank you, but be that as it may, you are doing the tales spoken about you an injustice.”

“Oh?”

“You are the cold and unapproachable King of the Woodland realm. The one whose heart is encased in the same ice that is reflected in your eyes,” said   the mortal with a dramatic flair.

Thranduil rolled his eyes. “Perhaps you should listen less when such tales are spun. I am cold only to those who deserve it. And I have decided to exempt you from such fate.”

Bard outright laughed. “Many thanks, oh beautiful Elvenking.”

Thranduil swatted him lightly on the chest. “But one mortal who deserves such contempt from me is the Master. He is the reason why I am in Laketown.”

Bard tried to capture the gaze of his striking elf, a sinking feeling forming in his gut when Thranduil instead turned his gaze to the mortal’s bed sheets. “What have you done?”

“What needed to be done,” the elf replied, picking at an invisible thread. “I could not allow his actions to continue. Despite my Elvin race and cold exterior, I can be a very compassionate being. And mortals have always held a spot in my heart. Your lives are naturally short. There is no reason why you should suffer in addition to that.”

“Your compassion for my people is appreciated, but this is not your fight Thranduil. I thought I made that clear.”

Thranduil’s head snapped up at the hint of steel in Bard’s voice. “I do not appreciate being spoken to like a child, nor do I appreciate being talked down to. I do not need your approval Bard. I can do anything I please.”

Bard sighed. “You mistake my words, my beauty,” he said softly. He cupped the elf’s cheek, caressing it with his thumb. “I am overjoyed to have your support, never doubt that. But what I wish for my people is to discover their inner courage—their will to stand up and fight for what they believe in. We will never be able to do so properly if we depend on the assistance of elves. We will only go from depending on one entity, to depending on another. So you see, if the men of Laketown cannot pull together and gain our independence back on our own strength, then I fear we never will.”

Thranduil couldn’t help but smile. How could one mortal be so wise beyond his years? So altruistically compassionate to others? Such traits were rare to find amongst mortal men. They were normally known for being crass, selfish, and full of greed. But not this man. Bard was the complete opposite, and Thranduil really shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was. After all, it was hard to overlook that this particular mortal came from a certain stock…

“You are royalty amongst men Bard—a king in your own right. And while I understand your plight, I fear that your people might not survive long enough to realize that they can take charge of their fate. Today when I walked around the village, I came across a horde of people literally tossed aside in the wreckage of the town, just like you said. They were starved and on the brink of death. Children, Bard. Women, younglings, and folks who should be living out their remaining days in comfort were instead discarded like rubbish. In all my years I have never seen the likes of such neglect. I am king to a mass of elves that I care about—that I would give my life to protect. I know all of my people by name, and if one should suffer from any affliction, I am the first to know, and the one to rectify the situation. I cannot fathom the suffering of good people. A true leader should be entwined with their subjects, because without them, a leader is nothing.”

Thranduil placed his hand over the one resting on his cheek. “I truly care about the lives of men. The Master was given a chance to change his ways today. From now on my people will be an integral fixture in Laketown and we shall be twinned the way we were meant to be, elves and men.”

Bard nodded resignedly. He wondered how these new events might potentially backfire on his people. “How did he take that bit of information?”

“Like a live pig on a spit over an open flame; he squealed incessantly, flapped around a bit, but then eventually gave in to the roasting he received.”

Bard laughed, leaning down to place a quick kiss on awaiting velvety lips. “Hell hath no fury like an elf scorned. Remind me never to cross you.”

“If deny me the pleasure of a good snog once more, then you surely shall.”

“Then allow me to sincerely apologize my king,” said Bard as he gradually closed the distance between them. “I never meant to deny his highness anything in the way of pleasure.”

The Elvenking snorted. “Insufferable mortal,” he managed to whisper before his mouth became other otherwise engaged.

Thranduil moaned into the kiss as Bard pushed against him until he lay flat on his back. Bard rested on his forearms above the Elvenking, using his right knee to push Thranduil’s legs apart. He then settled between them, both men moaning when their hardened members aligned deliciously.

 

****

 

They later laid entwined in each other’s embrace, chest to chest, both still fully clothed. Thranduil casually ran his bare foot up and down Bard’s shin, while the mortal’s fingers were busy absentmindedly stroking the length of the elf’s blond hair. The silence around them was peaceful enough, but there was a twinge of tension in the air.

“Pray tell what heavy thoughts weigh upon your mind.”

“I can’t help but give thought to our current situation, and question my luck,” Bard began. Thranduil picked up on his nervousness, the once rhythmic thumping of Bard’s heart by his ear now increased and erratic. “For years, I had longed to be in your presence and revel in your gaze upon mine. To one day feel your skin beneath mine—to run my fingers through your golden mane. In truth, I was elated that I had grasped the opportunity to do so when you’d fallen ill from that spider’s venom. Despite the circumstances, that day was the happiest of my life. I had finally obtained the opportunity to cradle you in my arms as we awaited help—to offer comfort, even though I was not worthy of your touch. I took something I should not have. And now emboldened by recent fortune, I ask for more of you. Am I foolish Thranduil? Should I have embraced those moments shared all those weeks ago instead of ponder on them profusely and crave more?”

Thranduil placed Bard’s hand on his cheek once more. “You should embrace in the moments shared _now_ and leave past thoughts to the shadows of our minds, where they belong.”

 

**TBC…**

 

Translation

Baw Ada= No Dad!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the ending was a bit lame. I couldn't figure out the best way to close it off. I may change it/ add more to it in the future, idk.
> 
> Also, I think after the next chapter, or after chapter nine (9), I'm going to start jumping forward in time. I want to make sure that I have enough steam left in me to complete the story, lol. 
> 
> Feel free to drop a comment down below if there is a particular scene you would like me to write. Much love peeps!
> 
> -CM


	8. Nothing Like the Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-Beta'd

**8**

 

Vengeful skies groaned quite suddenly one warm day in Ethuil, showering the Greenwood forest in powerful gusts of rain. It was an event that took place every hundred years, and was a much needed blessing as the forest had been deprived of adequate levels of rainfall for quite a while. Unfortunately, the storm caught Bard and Thranduil completely off guard and they were forced to end their day’s leisure in their favorite meadow nearby the area where Bard trained. They attempted to seek refuge under the trees of the forest, but even the Greenwood’s thick, leafy canopy was no match for this deluge. The water showered them just as hard as it did when they were out in the open.

Bard tried to shield his face as much as possible. “Damn these mortal eyes of mine. I can barely see anything though this downpour. I’ve lost direction to my barge.”

Thranduil turned to his mortal. His own blond hair was plastered solid to his face and neck. “Even if you stumbled on your way to the barge, I doubt you would find this to be ideal sailing conditions. No, we must take shelter somehow until the storm passes by.”

“But where?”

Thranduil scanned the area, his eyes unblinking even in the storm. After a few moments he noticed a giant Sequoia in the distance, hollowed in its center. He grabbed Bard by the hand and pulled him along, pushing him into the tree without hesitation. Surprisingly the space was quite deep, and even with their height and stature, there was just enough room to rest comfortably inside.

And it was dry.

Bard sighed in relief when the water no longer stung his eyes. He blinked a few times to clear them, and looked around their temporary means of lodging. It would suffice as adequate shelter for quite a while, as it seemed that the storm was not going to let up any time soon.

The bowman looked over at Thranduil and found the sight of the elf to be entirely endearing. He was currently on his knees, palms flat against the rough bark, whispering Elvish words to the tree as if it could hear and understand them.

“What are you doing, elf mine?”

Thranduil smiled at the endearment. “There are things in this world far older than us that deserve our respect Bard. This tree is one of them. Her name is Meltithenniel. She has graced these lands with her presence since the Years of the Trees. I am thanking her for allowing us to seek shelter within her.”

“Meltithenniel?”

“Yes. Meltithenniel, the ‘little one’ of the forest. Now she is no longer little, but the biggest the Greenwood has to offer,” Thranduil mused. He pressed his ear to the tree, palms placed affectionately on the brown bark.

“What does she say now?”

Thranduil’s eyes twinkled. “She is enchanted by my presence. She says that she has not seen an elf of my visage for many, many years. But that an elf with blonde hair used to play with her and tell her grand stories when she was but a sapling, standing only a few feet high. Mayhap that elfling was my father. Nonetheless, she is more than pleased to assist us in our time of need,” he finished softly, his cheeks completely flushed.

Bard cocked his head, momentarily enraptured by the tantalizing color on his elf’s face. The contrast was striking. “That wasn’t exactly what she said, was it?” Thranduil blinked and looked away, his cheeks darkening by the second. “Tell me, elf mine.”

“She said that she is overjoyed to shelter the most beautiful pair of lovers that she’s ever seen.”

Bard chuckled. “Well she isn’t wrong: you are quite beautiful Thranduil. Surely I’ve said that to you many times before.”

“Aye. But lovers? We have never…”

Bard scooted closer to the flustered elf. “Perhaps our tree friend is prophetic in nature. Because we will be lovers, you and I.” He pulled Thranduil into his embrace, tipping the Elvenking’s head up so that he had access to those stunning eyes.

“Or perhaps all prophecies were not meant to come true,” Thranduil whispered. “Mayhap we should take heed in the message of your ancestor’s song, and place a level of separation between us.”

Bard sat up, his face falling. “To what end? Do we not deserve a bit of happiness in our lives?” Suddenly something green fluttered around in the corner of his eyes, distracting him briefly. They were not the only ones to seek shelter from the rain. Bard drew Thranduil’s attention to it.

“We are quite fortunate Thranduil. Do you know what that is?” he asked, gesturing to the bright green moth resting a few feet from them.

Thranduil gasped, moving forth so that he could gently pick it up. “It is a Luna Moth.”

“Aye. It is quite rare to see one in these parts, and especially during this time of year. Such sad lives they live,” Bard said, stroking one of its wings with a gentle touch.

“I know,” the Elvenking said softly. “They are born only to live and love within the span of one week. Then they wither away, utterly forgotten of having existed.”

“That is true, but answer me this: after having not seen one of these creatures for a long time, what do you feel having laid your eyes on this very moth—that it seeks comfort in your hands?”

“I see your point Bard, but this is not the same,” Thranduil said solemnly, leaning over to allow the moth to crawl back onto the bark.

“Then how rare it is, that the Elvenking of the Greenwood is wrong on so simple a subject,” Bard mused. When Thranduil made a face, he continued. “I know what troubles you. I can sense the sorrow in your heart. Yet, is it not better to have lived and loved in life, then to let something so beautiful glimmer by without chance of seeing it?”

Thranduil turned away sharply. “You know not what I feel.”

Bard caressed the elf’s chin with gentle fingers, turning his head until they gazed in each other’s eyes once more. “You concern yourself so much with my death in the future, that you are foregoing your time with me in the present.”

He knew Thranduil’s wall—his façade of ice and darkness was crumbling. “But I must do so Bard, can you not see that? I must do so to prevent my heart from breaking. It is already fractured. One more blow and it shall truly shatter.”

“Then let me hold your heart safely in my hands Thranduil. Let me show you how well I will care for it,” he said, stroking Thranduil’s cheek.

The Elvenking stared back at him, eyes wet with unshed tears. The wall now wholly broken. “Do not love me Bard,” he tried to plead even though there was no strength behind his words.

“Oh my stunning elf, you are much too late for that.”

“But you will die one day,” Thranduil said weakly.

“Aye, but not on this day _Meleth nín_ ,” Bard said, plunging forth and seizing Thranduil’s lips.

 

******

 

Once the rain settled down the Luna Moth moved on, fluttering away into the lush of the damp forest. No one was the wiser. Her companions never noticed her departure. In fact, if anyone were to peer inside the hole in the giant tree, they would find the perfect couple within rather occupied. Naked, and locked together in a passionate embrace, Thranduil had one of his legs thrown over Bard’s as they lay on the ground face to face. The elf moaned as his mortal lover thrusted leisurely into his soaked passage, unable to stop the mantra of Bard’s name that flowed from his lips. It was a remarkable sight to behold, and even more so when in the height of their passion, the mortal groaned deeply, signaling his approaching climax. He ran his fingers across the stretched rim of Thranduil’s entrance, whispering loving words and encouraging his lover to cross over the brink of ecstasy with him. And Thranduil did, all while begging for Bard to fill him to the brim with his seed.

And later in the afterglow of their lovemaking, when Bard’s softened cock slipped free from the elf and a trickle of cum followed, Meltithenniel giggled.

_“Lovers indeed.”_

Only the elf heard her.

And he smiled.

 

**TBC...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, I apologize if this chappie was shite. I'm a bit under the weather at the moment.  
> And I promise this isn't the only love scene. I can write better scenes than this, lol.
> 
> After chapter nine, which will be a brief chapter I think, the story will begin to jump around in time. Just wanted to give everyone a fair warning of this, lol. 
> 
> Much Love!
> 
> -CM


	9. Through the Eyes of a Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick chappie. Enjoy
> 
> Warning: Un-beta'd

**9**

 

When the appointed hour for Thranduil’s return to the kingdom approached and passed, Legolas set out in search for his father. He wasn’t worried however. Thranduil was perfectly capable of taking care of himself—his abundant lifespan was more than enough proof of that. And Legolas knew that his father had not ventured too far from the kingdom. Thranduil spoke to him once about using a nearby clearing to train a mortal from Laketown.

Ahh…the mortal. Bard.

Now he was the real reason why the Elvenprince journeyed from his home. Curiosity got the best of him. Who was this mortal? That was probably a silly question as he had encountered and exchanged words with the mortal. And for the most part, he seemed like a decent man. But what made him so special indeed that his father found himself spending more and more of his time in Bard’s company?

Legolas had no negative feelings towards mortals. In some ways, he actually respected them a great deal. Weaker beings they might be, but mortals were courageous beings who fought every day to maintain their existence in a world where even the smallest of things could end their shortened lives. But this particular mortal initiated as spark in the Elvenking—one that did not go unnoticed. Thranduil had changed quite a bit in the months that had flown by. He seemed much less cold and unapproachable. His eyes seemed to twinkle more. And just last month, he had quite unexpectedly declared a week of nonstop revelry to celebrate the continued existence of elves in an ever changing world. So in reality, Legolas wanted to gaze again upon the man from Laketown who had his Ada’s attention.

The mortal who inspired such a welcomed transformation.

Legolas came to a stop by an oak tree before the clearing. He could sense that his father and Bard were a few feet away. He pushed a branch down, leaning forward to spy on the pair.

If elves could die of shock, Legolas would have been planted on the ground.

There before him was Thranduil and Bard, but not in the manner he pictured. And definitely not practicing archery. The Elvenking was seated on a flattened boulder dressed only in his shirt that was thankfully long enough to protect his modesty. His father was gazing down at the mortal who was leisurely caressing his bare legs from his seat on the ground near his feet.

For a long while neither spoke, merely gazing into each other’s eyes. Maybe they had transcended the need for physical speech, instead speaking volumes with simple looks. It was mystifying. A true sight of wonder, to see Thranduil so changed.

It was so much so, that Legolas unknowingly reeled backwards, and in doing so, he clumsily stepped on a twig. It noisily snapped in two, the sound carrying through the forest and seemingly echoing louder as it went. Still, he could have stepped on a thousand twigs and branches if he so chose. No amount of noise would have broken the spell between the two lovers. The scene itself was enchanted, bewitched even, but only with the purest form of magic.

Minutes later however, Bard patted Thranduil’s knee and stood upright, brushing dirt and leaves off his pants.

“Where are you going?”

Bard smiled down at the elf. “There’s a saying that when elves reach their peak in pleasure, they become easy to catch off guard, and are therefore easily bested by even the simplest of tasks. Like running, for example.”

Thranduil rose gracefully from his perch, long hairless legs stretched to the heavens. His head was cocked to the side, and everything about his posture and expression screamed merriment. “If that were true, then it would require little difficulty for you to catch me, would it not?”

“Catch you?” Bard inquired, but he had no time to ponder on the question before Thranduil took off, laughing all the while. So he ran after the blonde elf, chasing him around various trees and flower patches.

And Legolas looked on, a privy voyeur.

 

*****

 

Days later in Thranduil’s Greenwood kingdom, the young prince managed to catch his father alone for a spare moment. “You would lie upon the bed of a mortal,” said Legolas, wasting no time to approach his point.

Thranduil didn’t even bat a lengthy eyelash at his son’s abrupt question. “If love were the sheets that draped us, then yes I would.”

“Tis a sight, you know. To see you talk about love. A subject hardly broached between us, in any capacity.”

Thranduil placed a warm hand on Legolas’ shoulder. “But never once has it ceased to be felt. You know very well Legolas that you and I can share so few a word for many years and yet there is an unending dialogue between us. Never doubt my love for you.”

Legolas leaned ever so slightly in towards his father’s hand. “Never have I, nor will I ever. “ He threw a blinding smile Thranduil’s way, slipping out of the Elvenking’s embrace as he backed away. “Nor will I now doubt your love for Bard.”

Before he was completely out of the throne room, he called out “But know that he requires my approval should he wish for the title of stepfather.”

And he bellowed joyously when his father sputtered and squawked in response.

 

**TBC…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What'd you think?  
> Kudos and comments are crack: gimme a fix! j/k :P  
> Much love Peeps!
> 
> -CM


	10. Through the Eyes of a Bargeman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick chappie to celebrate my b-day. Hope it pleases!
> 
> Blessed be,
> 
> CM
> 
>  
> 
> Un-beta'd

**10**

 

 

Bard could not be anymore happier than he was. No one could break his spirits. The Master could not anger him. He could go weeks without food or drink and it would matter not. He could lose his house and meager possessions in a wave of flames and it would matter not. Nothing could make Bard come down from the high he was feeling.

 

He had Thranduil. He had lain with the most beautiful elf in all of Middle Earth. And not just an ordinary elf, if elves could ever be categorized as _ordinary_. No, this elf was remarkable in many ways, and also a king. Bard had lain with an Elvenking! That was something no mortal man could ever claim of having done. And yet he could. A simple, twenty year old bargeman from Laketown could claim such a prestigious title.

 

Bard lay back on his barge, letting the sun kiss the skin of his bare chest as he awaited Thranduil’s barrels. The thought of his elf set him aflame, just as it had on that blissful day nearly a week ago. He closed his eyes, letting sweet memories wash over him. They were so vivid now just as the experience had been then. Thranduil in all his beauty, unkempt from nature’s rain. All that ivory skin slowly revealed to Bard’s starved eyes as layers of clothing was slowly removed. Thighs so powerful that they could snap a man’s neck in two were surprisingly soft and pliant, easy to spread as Bard settled within them. And those fingers…those long elven fingers that wrapped around his own inexperienced ones, guiding him to a hidden entrance that promised many pleasures…

 

Bard decided to indulge in his reminiscing, his hand slipping lower on his persons until he freed and grasped his hardness in his hand. It wouldn’t take much to bring him to completion, but he wanted to prolong his climax as long as possible. He stroked himself leisurely, gripping the base of his cock and squeezing whenever he felt the need to spill. He licked his lips as he thought of all of the things he and his elf could do during future encounters. Like what would Thranduil’s mouth feel like upon him? Would the Elvenking ever allow himself to kneel before and worship a mortal man in such a way? In Bard’s mind he might. But it may take a bit of persuasion.

 

He could see it now; his fingers running through blond silk as the elf nuzzled at his thigh and nosed the underside of his cock. Thranduil’s lips kissing up his length. He would drag the head of his cock across those sinful lips, smacking it against them as way of asking for entrance. The Elvenking would look up at him with frozen eyes, unblinking, challenging Bard to keep his gaze while Thranduil slowly engulfed his rigid flesh with a mouth as hot as fire.

 

Still, while the idea of claiming Thranduil’s mouth was an enticing one, nothing beat the real memory of being inside of the blonde. Bard moaned, swiping a thumb across the head of his weeping cock. Such wet, tight heat. The purest euphoria. He remembered the patience that was shown to him—much needed guidance on how to prepare his beloved’s body being spoken to him in gentle whispers, lips grazing his in the softest of caresses.

 

_Slip one finger inside of me._

_Then another._

_And another._

_See how my body hungers for you Bard?_

_So good._

_I’m ready for you now. Make your home inside of me._

_Just like that._

_Deep inside._

_Yes, that’s it._

_Please._

_Never leave._

_Never stop._

_Don’t stop._

_Harder._

_Deeper._

_Don’t stop._

 

Bard stroked himself faster, his rhythm uneven and eyes clenched shut. Thranduil was exquisite. Soft, breathy moans next to Bard’s ear, begging him, pleading with Bard to drive his cock deeper into his willing body. To fill him in the best way. By the gods, had anyone ever bore witness to such a sight? To see a mighty Elvenking reduced to such a wanton creature? And to observe the king reaching his peak was enthralling. Head thrown back, thighs quivering like leaves rustling in a soft breeze. Screaming Bard’s name loud enough that Meltithenniel hummed in delight and her branches trembled in response.

 

_My mortal. My beloved._

 

Bard cried out, back arching taut as his cock erupted, painting his chest in ribbons of white. He panted, trying to catch his breath from his climax. When he calmed, Bard found himself overtaken by the desire to chuckle. He had just spilled his seed from a mere vision of the Elvenking and nothing more. If he were here, Bard was sure that Thranduil would have tutted his actions and exclaimed that the display was “interesting.”

 

“Oh Thranduil,” he said with a laugh. “Guren nallatha nalú achenin le.” He settled back and fell into a light slumber, not caring that he was still exposed to the world and that his seed was currently drying on his skin. He’d wash it off later.

 

But little did Bard know that eyes full of sadness had watched him from afar, disappearing eventually into the thick of the trees.

 

**TBC….**

Translation

Guren nallatha nalú achenin le

My heart shall weep until I see thee again  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> XOXOXO


	11. Elves? Who Needs Them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the warm birthday wishes! It was a great day! :D
> 
> XOXO

**11**

 

In recent weeks Bard found himself venturing to the forest, only to find that his elf was not there. He’d wait for hours at a time, sometimes leaving for a brief swim, only to return to their spot and find it empty. Perhaps the Elvenking found himself inundated with affairs closer to home, and could not yet send word to Bard regarding his absence. That seemed to make the most sense, and was the only solution that could keep Bard’s mind at ease. So he carried on as usual, practicing his skills and performing his duties to his own people as required. He even kept busy with his secret task of making the Master’s life miserable, which was always amusing.

Speaking of the gluttonous pig, Bard was on his way to see the man to discuss possible new fishing routes, when he spotted the beautiful Elvenking and his entourage emerging from the Master’s home. In his excitement, Bard rushed to meet him, even going as far as to grab Thranduil’s arm when he didn’t immediately stop at the sight of him.

“ _Thranduil! Mell nín. Guren linna le.”_

But the look he received was of the hardest, coldest ice. It knocked the breath right out of him. “How dare you lay hands on me, mortal,” the elf hissed. With a slight movement of his head, his trained archers had loaded bows positioned on Bard. Even Legolas took up arms against him, but with an expression to his father that screamed utter confusion.

The other Laketowners around them suddenly tuned in to the happenings, and whatever idle chatter amongst the townsfolk instantly gave way to a tense silence. Bard felt so hurt and out of place, utterly lost as to what wrongdoings he had committed.

“Thranduil?” he asked lamely, for he could not utter much more than that. Other words refused to come forth.

The Elvenking’s face darkened. “And to brazenly boast a sense of familiarity with me, calling me by name. I am your Lord, mortal. You shall respectfully address me as such.” He slowly looked down at Bard’s hand still upon him. “And I would remove that disgraceful appendage from my persons should you wish it to remain attached to your body.”

The bargeman pulled away, scorned. He said nothing as he looked deep into Thranduil’s unblinking eyes one more time before lowering his head in submission and stepping out of his path. The other elves slowly lowered their bows in response and reholstered their arrows.

Without anther word Thranduil walked away towards the docks, his arms wrapped around his midsection, cloak pulled close. He didn’t look back.

 

*****

 

Bard was hunting for his supper days after the altercation, trying to clear his mind of prior dour events. Elves. Who needed them, right? He soon spotted a deer, maybe only a few seasons old. Bard hated to take the life of an animal so young, but after hours of searching, this was the only creature he had come across, and he was losing light fast. If he wanted to have food in his belly and be home before nightfall, he had to claim its life. He cursed, and reached a hand back for an arrow.

But then a sound to his right caught his attention and he switched gears. Whatever it was, was much larger than a deer. Taking no chances, Bard swiftly loaded an arrow to his bow and fired…

The sharpened shaft would have landed right between the intruder’s eyes if said intruder wasn’t a well adept warrior with impeccable reflexes. Fast as lightning, the elf drew his sword and deflected the arrow with zero effort.

Bard snorted at the action, tossing his bow down on the boulder next to him. “Did you get lost? Your kingdom is that way, my lord.”

Thranduil sheathed his sword. “I deserved that, I suppose.”

“Oh no, not at all. You deserve nothing but respect King Thranduil. After all, you said as much when we last laid eyes on each other.”

The Elvenking began to step closer, but when Bard glared at him for doing so, he stayed put. “I was not well when we last met.”

“Really? You appeared in good health then, just as you do now.” Bard stood up and brushed off his pants. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I should return to my home. I collected a bastard’s barrels from the river earlier and I must get them back to my people before nightfall.”

Thranduil frowned. “You would leave your lover alone in the woods after he’s sought out your attentions?”

Bard’s eyebrows nearly leapt right off his face. “Lover? What lover have I? True lovers do not shame their significant others in front of other people, for any reason.”

The Elvenking clasped an arm over his chest and bowed at the waist. “You have my sincerest apologies for that. It was a trying day for me.”

Bard took in the appearance of the elf before him. For the first time Thranduil seemed…weary. Not on the outside, of course. No, his physical features were as pristine as ever. But something was definitely off with him. He was not standing as erect and proud as per usual. Like he had a massive weight on his shoulders and did not know how to cope with that.

The bargeman decided to spare him from further barbs and softened his tone a bit. “Well when I saw you, you were emerging from a meeting with the Master. Any time spent in that swine’s company is bound to lessen any man or elf’s resolve.”

Thranduil smiled at the mortal’s metaphorical olive branch and stepped closer when invited. “Quite. But even I cannot blame my recent hardship on the Master.”

And then like that, Thranduil found himself at a loss of his footing and spiraling towards the forest floor. Luckily Bard caught him in his strong arms and kept him upright. “I thought walking was one of the _many_ skills that elves possess,” Bard teased with a smirk.

Thranduil feigned annoyance. “You still have a very loose tongue for a mortal,” he chided, mimicking the same words he once spoke to Bard when they first met.

“I will see to it that it does not remain too loose,” Bard easily replied. They stared at each other before breaking out into a short bout of laughter. The mortal helped carry them both over to the boulder, seating them so that he could wrap his arms around the troubled elf.

"I watched you," Thranduil murmured.  "Found myself unable to stay away. Like a moth to a flame. Or should I say an elf to a naked, sunkissed bargeman."

"Spying on me, were you?"

"Its hard to spy on someone who displays himself so nicely in the open. Especially when he takes up such interesting pastimes," Thranduil purred, lightly gripping Bard between his legs. Bard in turn smacked his hand away, but swiftly placed a kiss upon the elf's pouty lips.

“ _Goheno nin_ ,” Thranduil whispered many moments later as he nuzzled into Bard’s embrace.

“I cannot forgive you if I do not understand what caused the offense in the first place. Even when you and I were strangers, you were never that cruel to me. What did I do to cause you such pain?”

The Elvenking sighed. “You loved me. You gave you heart to me, and I foolishly did not think of any repercussions that simple action could have.”

Bard sighed. It all made sense now. “I understand now. By being so open with you in front of your kin, I have shamed you somehow. I never meant for that to happen my Lord. In my foolishness, I rushed to embrace you and did not give thought to how strange such a sight would have been to your company. And my being a mortal no less. I’m sure your brethren are quite taken aback by that. Please forgive my actions. Have you suffered any backlash from your people?”

Thranduil sat up in alarm. “What are you going on about? You think my actions towards you is because I fear any public sighting of my attachment to you? Has one of my barrels hit you in the head and impaired you in some way?”

“Well that seemed to be the most logical conclusion,” Bard shrugged.

Thranduil muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like ‘daft mortal.’ He shook his head and placed a hand on Bard’s face. “I am a king, Bard. I have nothing to fear and no one to be ashamed of. If I decide to take a mortal between my thighs, then all shall accept the fact or meet a swift end by my sword,” he said. “No, the imprudence is mine alone. I failed to take certain precautions and now I must pay for them in full.”

Bard frowned. “You speak in riddles, my lord. I cannot decipher them.”

“I am Thranduil to you,” the Elvenking snapped. “To those I love, I shall only be Thranduil,” he whispered.

“Alight,” Bard replied, not willing to argue that only a few days prior the blond elf was singing a different tune. “But I am only human after all Thranduil. Us humans were not built to understand complexities, especially when spoken by a much wiser elf.”

Thranduil nodded solemnly. “Then it appears that I can no longer hide behind enigmatic words and evading behavior.” He paused to collect his thoughts, keeping his eyes trained off into the distance. Bard rubbed his back in support. Within moments the elf was speaking. “I know of it happening only once before…. Elves are truly fascinating creatures, built to endure whatever nature hurls at them. My kin are no exception.”

“I have kept something from you Bard, and I regrettably did so, because I feared that the subsequent rejection from you once I divulged the information would be too great. And the thought of having you no longer with me terrifies me more than I’d care to admit.”

When Bard tried to protest against that, Thranduil cut him off swiftly with an “I’m with child.”

For many moments the bargeman just sat there questioning what he’d just heard, eyes as wide as an owl’s. In response, the elf began to pace, uncharacteristically rambling to fill the void caused by his lover’s silence. “Sindarin elves a special breed, designed to be capable of stronger feats than normal Silvan elves. Such a feat apparently, is the ability to conceive and carry children. And before you mention it, the gender of the carrier is of little consequence. While I knew somewhere in the depths of my mind that it was a possibility that I could fall pregnant, somehow I negated that fact with an absurd notion that a mortal man was not capable of siring children with elves. I was foolhardy, negligent, and now I shall pay the price of rearing an unwanted child.”

Bard snapped out of his trance at that. “Unwanted? By whom?”

“I figured since you had not prepared for such an event, that you would not be receptive to the idea of parenthood…and open moreso to the idea of loving me no longer.”

“You carry my child within you, and you thought for a moment that I would not love you even more for that?”

Thranduil smiled. “You still love me?”

Bard grinned. “Yes! By the gods you elves, for all your infinite wisdom, can be quite foolish at times.”

“I have already admitted to my inanities,” said the blond, miffed.

“And I shall make you admit to them for many years to come,” he responded with a smile. Then his eyes drifted down to Thranduil’s midsection. He silently asked for confirmation that this was happening, and then approval that he could come closer, both which were given by a relieved elf.

Bard placed his forehead against Thranduil’s, both of his hands caressing the elf’s still flat belly through his thin clothing. “I am to be a Da,” he whispered against the Elvenking’s lips, claiming them softly and chastely.

 _"Nost_ _nín."_

 

*****

 

Later in the day, Thranduil found himself pacing back and forth in his Greenwood kingdom. That’s how Legolas found him.“You wished to see me father?”

“Yes, come in,” Thranduil says with a smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. In fact, his father seemed distressed altogether.

“I take it that you and the mortal have rectified things?”

“Yes, we have. And because of that, I felt it necessary to speak with you.”

Thranduil blinked, folding his hands behind his back and schooling his features into more composed ones.

“I carry Bard’s child,” he said plainly. Blunt. To the point. No extra words required between them.

The prince didn’t even miss a beat. “Ada, this is incredible news! Do you know what this means?”

“That in a few seasons I’m going to be in extreme discomfort for having relations with a mortal?”

Legolas tossed him an amused look. “It means that this will spark much needed change in us as a people. Look around _Ada_ : we still live and function as if we are in war.”

Thranduil sniffed. “We must always be prepared for a possible attack. The signs are still around us. The spiders still spawn in Dolguldur—” he grumbled before he was cut off by his son.

“There is no disagreement between us _Ada_. I believe just as you that our strength and preparedness should never fall. But even though we are beings who have lived throughout the ages, that doesn’t mean that we should not enjoy every single day we encounter. We should embrace our lives again. “

“And you will lead us into this change. There has not been a single birth amongst our people for many centuries. The birth of my sibling will be the first. As our king, you will teach us how to live again by example.”

“Has it really been centuries?” Thranduil asked softly.

“It has. But do not dwell on the past,” said Legolas, stepping forward and placing his hands on his father’s abdomen. “Think of the future you will help us to build—that you’re already building.”

The Elvenking placed his hands over his son’s. “I’m afraid I cannot take all the credit. Bard had something to do with my current situation.”

Legolas smiled. “Yes, and I think you two should formally bond. Have you discussed that possibility with him?”

If Thranduil was shocked by his son’s suggestion, or that he suggested it with relative ease, his face did not show it. “No we have yet to discuss such an act. However, I doubt he would be opposed to the idea.” Thranduil sighed as a thought came to him. “I suppose if marriage is on the table, then I will have to visit our kin in Rivendell to make them aware.”

“In time you shall. Perhaps in _Ethuil_ you can make the journey. For now, let this knowledge remain with our people. Their revelry and joy will reach the stars.”

 

*****

 

The festivities lasted for three months.

**TBC…**

**Translations**

_Thranduil! Mell nín. Guren linna le._

Thanduil, my beloved. My heart sings to see you.

_Goheno nín_

Forgive me

 _Nost_ _nín_

My family.

_Ethuil_

Spring (Mar 29 – May 21)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was it? :)
> 
> Much love to you all!!!


	12. The Council

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chappie! Yay!!!! :D
> 
> Also, I expanded chapter 11. It's not mandatory to reread that chappie, but in case you're curious, everything after "Nost nin" is new. 
> 
> XOXOXO
> 
> -CM

**FUTL 12**

 

“You make a mockery of our people Thranduil,” said Celeborn, disdain etched into his face. “You cannot sully our strength by consorting with a mortal. We must remain the most powerful element in Middle Earth. Becoming attached to a mortal brings weakness.”

Thranduil felt his patience begin to slip away from him. Nearly midway through his second season of pregnancy, his temper began to flare with ease. He had travelled with a few of his Greenwood kin to Rivendell, sans Legolas. His absence from the kingdom meant that Legolas needed to remain as acting regent. So Thranduil travelled with the best soldiers from his army to seek counsel with his distant kin. Actually, he needed not their counsel nor approval. He only wished to inform them of the current happenings in his part of Middle Earth so that they could join in with the festivities. All children born to elves are sacred after all. When he arrived, he was eager to divulge such information concerning his beloved mortal and their developing child. Now his eagerness faded quickly into regret. For as soon as he spoke of his upcoming bonding to Bard—not even being granted the opportunity to reveal the growing bump of his child that he kept hidden under his cloak— Celeborn had something negative to say about it.

There was always one rotten fish in a barrel…

“Thranduil, I must urge you to reconsider. You are a king among elves. If you are indeed ready to pledge yourself to another after your Queen’s untimely demise,” Celeborn began, ignoring Thranduil’s heated glare, “then you must bond with another elf. Not a _mortal_. I suggest Elrond’s daughter Arwen. She is of age and would make a great queen. And should you choose that route, bear you strong elflings.”

Surprisingly, it was Elrond who spoke next. “You bear me great insult Celeborn. Not only to that of my own lineage, but to insult my daughter by ignoring her intended mortal husband?”

“Offense was not intended but this was an issue that needed to be addressed all the same,” Celeborn calmly replied.

“Celeborn, you are under the impression that I came here seeking your permission or guidance,” Thranduil said coolly. “And I can assure you that I came here seeking neither.”

“You journeyed here from your precious Greenwood realm to seek our blessings, did you not?”

“No. My mortal inspires feelings within me that I had not felt in a long time. Joy is one such feeling, and I wanted to share my happiness with my brethren. A clear mistake on my part.”

Gandalf, who had been happily smoking his pipe, sat up with a smile. “Surely no mistake has been made Thranduil. It brings cheer to the heart to see you once again socializing amongst your kin. And if your mortal has brought about this wondrous change, then I say congratulations on your upcoming nuptials. What is the young lad’s name?”

Thranduil smiled, not even questioning how the wizard knew that his mortal was male. If there was one person he could count on to rule in his favor, it was the eccentric grey wizard. “Bard, descendent of Lord Girion of Dale. Your words are met with much appreciation Mithrandir.”

“Unfortunately, the words of a wizard mean little when discussing the ways of Elves,” said Celeborn, interrupting Gandalf from commenting further. That started up a heated conversation between Elrond and Celeborn, with Gandalf occasionally chipping in. Thranduil watched on in silence, his weariness become more prominent as time passed. He was beginning to wish that he had never left the sanctuary of his kingdom, and instead bonded with Bard in secret. It would have been less frustrating for sure as his aloof kin would be powerless to do much more than complain after the fact.

Suddenly Thranduil felt a voice invading his mind. The only one among them that possessed such power was the Lady of the Lorien. She had kept quiet the entire time, letting her husband dominate the conversation. Thranduil felt a great deal of respect for her, and for anyone who preferred to speak only when it was necessary. He didn’t have to gaze in her direction to know that she was staring at him intently while gliding along the raised courtyard. “ _You’re hiding something,”_ Galadriel said softly in his mind.

 _“Yes_ ,” Thranduil replied. “ _If this is the reaction that greets me about my upcoming nuptials to Bard, then_ _I fear my secret must remain shrouded in darkness, lest members of the council drop dead from shock_ ,” he said referring to her husband.

Galadriel smiled. “ _Come now, Thranduil. Every secret must face the light of day.”_

He remained steadfast in his silence, but it mattered not. Moments later Galadriel gasped when she discovered what she was looking for in his mind, and stepped closer until she was standing before him. She pulled back his robes and placed her dainty hands upon his stomach, letting out a small cry of joy when they connected with a small, round bump. “A child?” she asked aloud. That seemed to instantly shut up those around them. “Fortuitous and yet a blessing nonetheless. An elfling within a king yet sired by a mortal,” she said in wonder. Thranduil wasn’t sure what to make of Galadriel’s hands upon him at first, but he gradually found himself warming to her gentle touch.

“Come _Iavas_ the Greenwood realm will welcome its newest addition. She will be strong,” Galadriel continued. “And beautiful. Quite so.”

 _A daughter?_ Thranduil felt overcome with a rush of feelings. He had always hoped to give Legolas a sister, and now he could. He couldn’t wait to return home so that he could share the good news with his mate and son.

He dipped his head and bowed slightly. “Thank you, my Lady Galadriel.”

Elrond stepped forward next to embrace Thranduil. “There hasn’t been a birth in any of our royal lineages for quite an age. Please know that your child will be most welcome here in Rivendell and welcomed as my own.”

“You have my thanks Elrond.”

Gandalf clapped his hands. “This most exciting news indeed. Soon there will be a new child in our midst. How delightful! I can’t wait to show her my whiz poppers and magic tricks. I should prepare something spectacular for her arrival.”

“Perhaps we should wait until she is old enough to appreciate fireworks Mithrandir,” Thranduil said with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. Gandalf simply waived him off, no doubt continuing to plot and plan which of his fireworks he would display.

Celeborn however, refused to budge on his position. “A mortal Halfling does not sway the judgement of this council. A marriage between an Elvenking and a mortal shall not commence,” he ordered.

Sharply Galadriel turned to her husband, her dark powers seeping onto her face, and her eyes flashing darkly, before they disappeared just as fast. “Know your place husband. Your word does not outrank mine, nor does it speak as the voice of this council.”

“Oropher would be outraged if he knew of the waywardness his son took part in.”

“No, he would not,” Galadriel replied eerily. She turned back to Thranduil and just like that, her smile returned. “You are fortunate young Thranduil, to claim what your father could not.”

“My father?”

She nodded and moved away from him, and his skin felt warm and tingly where her hands had been. “During the Second Age of Middle Earth, a great alliance formed between man and elves to combat Lord Sauron’s forces. It was the last great alliance of its kind, and the battle in which your father lost his life.”

Thranduil tilted his head. “Yes. I was an elfling myself at the time, but I remember my father’s death. At least, I remember him riding to war and never returning.”

“Do you remember his temperament before his untimely end?”

“I suspect it was as all others: angry, scared, desperate to see war’s end and return home.”

“Yes, but his anger and pain stemmed not only from Sauron’s actions.”

The Elvenking frowned. “My Lady Galadriel, I fail to see the purpose of this conversation.”

Galadriel smiled. It was the smile of secrets—that she knew something clearly no one else knew. “You’re father was a good king, full of patience and compassion. He was known for his generosity, and frequently opened his kingdom up to anyone he deemed a friend; man, elf, or dwarf alike. He was beloved by all, and his radiance continued to shine bright, even after your mother journeyed to the Undying Lands. But then something in him changed. He became colder. Rash. Unapproachable. And a mortal was responsible for that.

“You see, your father made peace with the idea that he would never find love again after the departure of your mother. He learned to live with that thought, choosing to carry her memory in his heart and cherish the only living reminder of their love: you. But one day he came across the sight of a mortal gathering fruit in his forest—a beautiful boy on the cusp of manhood. He fell in love,” she whispered. “But because he knew not how to grasp his newfound affections towards the mortal man, Oropher never spoke to him. Not a single word for many years. Instead, he visited the boy in the forest every day, and together they would watch each other from afar. Nothing more. When the mortal eventually perished due to old age and a broken heart, Oropher never recovered from his death—never forgave himself for denying his beloved. Instead became quite reckless with his actions. He allied himself with men and hastily joined in the War against Sauron where he died in the Battle of Dagorlad.”

“I …I never knew,” Thranduil whispered. “I mean, I knew he gave his heart to another. I found a bow Oropher had crafted for him and in turn I gifted it to Bard. But I never knew my father lived and died with such pain.”

Galadriel nodded solemnly. “It was unfortunate, yes. And yet, you are not your father.”

She continued to glide around, bare feet padding softly along. Her long dress flowing seamlessly behind her. “Though you came here not seeking it, you have the blessing of this council on your upcoming marriage. May you both, and your kingdoms continue to prosper.”

“Many thanks again, my Lady Galadriel. Though I’m afraid my heart belongs to a simple bargeman, not a king of men.”

Galadriel simply winked.

 

**TBC…**

 

_Iavas_

Harvest (Aug 2 - Sep 24)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I had to fudge the history/rank of the elves a bit. In my mind, it kind of makes sense that Galadriel is higher in rank than the others because she's the oldest. But I know its more complex than that. Sorry if my fudging bothers anybody. 
> 
> Much love to you all, as always! :D
> 
> Also, I'm really curious to know which countries my readers/friends live in. Are there Barduil fans all over the world? Please drop a word or two in the comments section below about where you're from. I'm from Canada, but I live in the U.S. for now. :)
> 
> -CM


	13. When Fate Holds Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my friends! I'm baaacckk!!! And man, I can't believe that this story has over 6,000 views!!!! So excited! And to find out that I have readers from all over the world is just amazing. Many thanks to all of you who have stuck with this story since last year. I appreciate all of you! :D
> 
> This is just a little fluff chapter. Not much going on really. Sorry I could churn out more. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Un-beta'd

**13**

 

Ever since Bard noticed that the Master had assigned his cronies to spy on him and his actions, he had taken to sleeping with a dagger under his pillow. It was only a matter of time before he was considered an utter nuisance in need of eliminating. His bow and quiver were also nearby, but a dagger was more of a convenient choice in case of an attack. It wasn’t anything special; leather handle, 8 inch blade length with a heaviness on the backend. It had faint markings on it from his various animal hunts throughout the years, but was still as sharp as the day it was forged.

His fingers were currently wrapped around the hilt, his ears perked. He had heard a soft movement near his front door, and again twenty paces away from his bed. Trust the fat coward to send an assassin under the cover of darkness, rather than in broad daylight where Bard could be prepared and fight back. And this could only be the Master’s doing. The only one who would have the stones to enter Bard’s home unannounced was Thranduil, and he was not due back from Rivendell for three days.

Bard tried to keep his breathing as even as he could to feign sleep. He needed the intruder to come within three paces of his bed before he could strike. And luckily for Bard, they would give away their exact locations with every step. Bard’s house was riddled with creaky floorboards and he knew every one of them and which sounds they made.

However it seemed that the trespasser was also privy to that knowledge, for they managed to dodge every squeaky board on their pursuit closer. Bard frowned deeply, trying to maintain the air of normalcy. So this assassin had been in his house before, the bargemen mused. Clearly he or she was more intelligent than was previously credited.

He waited for an indication that he should strike.

And he waited.

And waited.

And then just before he struck, a deep voice softly spoke out.

“Surely you don’t wish to harm me with the dagger you currently grip in your right hand, do you Bard?”

The mortal let out a light laugh, rolling over onto his back. He looked up at his intended with a dopey smile, and let the dagger in his hand fall to the floor with a loud clunk. “ _Mae athollen meleth nín_. I had you due back in three days’ time Thranduil. What hastened your return?”

Thranduil smiled down at his beloved. “The warm embrace of my husband’s arms around me and our child.”

Bard stood up, first helping his elf out of his thick cloak, and then his boots and socks. Then he wrapped his arms tight around his lover’s body and captured his lips in a deep kiss. “Future husband,” Bard murmured into the kiss after a few moments.

“Indeed,” Thranduil replied, letting Bard lead him into his bed. He sighed deeply and relaxed against the mortal, back to chest. Immediately Bard’s hands moved to cradle his protruding belly, rubbing the stretched skin in soothing motions.

Bard kissed the soft skin behind Thranduil’s left ear. “How was your travels? What news do you bring from your kin?”

Thranduil snorted. “All but one were in favor of our impending union. Celeborn, husband to the highest of our order, the Lady Galadriel, had the gall to think me weak for taking a mortal to my thighs. How could he not see that I am the strongest I’ve ever been with you by my side?”

Bard smiled at his elf’s words and the way he spoke them so freely and without hesitation. He thought it wasn’t possible, but his heart swelled even more with love and admiration. “He is a fool,” Bard replied.

“Quite. And the way he spoke of our daughter—referring to her as creature of lesser worth. An abomination,” Thranduil spat.

Bard froze. “A daughter?”

“Yes. Apparently she will be strong and beautiful. Fair and just. The best of us both.”

“But how do you know this?”

“Galadriel possesses many gifts. She sensed that I carried life within me from the moment I entered Rivendell. She is our greatest supporter.”

Bard grinned. “I like her already. Tell me more about her.”

“As I mentioned, she is the highest of our order in Middle Earth—a queen in everything but title. Hair the likes of silk forged from the sun. Eyes as blue as the sea, with depths just as vast. She is the most beautiful elf to have ever graced our world.”

Bard hummed. “I doubt that very much. I think the most beautiful elf in Middle Earth is right here in my arms,” he said as he tilted the Elvenking’s chin up for a kiss.

“Nonetheless,” the mortal continued moments later,” I would still like to meet her.”

“She has quite an interest in you as well. Perhaps you shall get your chance in a few weeks’ time at our bonding ceremony.”

A sudden thought came to Bard. “I’ve never seen your kingdom before.”

“An opportunity has never arisen before. But it matters not; it will be your home soon enough.”

When a response never came, Thranduil turned to face his lover and was surprised to find that Bard would not meet his eyes.

“You are not pleased to share a kingdom with me?”

“I am…but it is an offer that I cannot accept.”

The Elvenking frowned. “Bard, we cannot join in marriage and raise a child only to live apart. I do not understand where this rejection stems from. Have I wronged you somehow?”

Bard’s eyes snapped to his. “Never! And this is not rejection but apprehension. My mind rests with my people and what will become of them should I move to the Greenwood.”

Thranduil visibly relaxed. It should frighten him at how attached he was to his mortal lover, and yet it did not. “You will not be bound to the walls of my home Bard. You will be free to venture to and from my kingdom.”

“Aye, but my presence gives my people hope that they will see another day. Even now, though I return to Laketown every day, my people silently question why I spend more and more of my day away from here. They fear I will one day abandon them.”

“My last encounter with the Master has ensured that conditions in Laketown will improve, lest blood be shed. And my people’s continued presence has reinforced that he uphold his end of the bargain.”

Bard smiled sadly. “A snake is a snake. The peace remains intact for now. But soon the Master will shed his skin, and the viper will be reborn even more deadly. I fear what is to come.”

Thranduil cupped his face with a gentle hand. “Then say the word and the reign of the Master will come to an end.”

“If only it were that simple. No one has proven strong enough to stand as a worthy candidate in an election. No, we need more time.”

Thranduil frowned. “Election? Why would Laketown need such a thing when their true king lives amongst them? We both know that you could usher your people into a new golden age if you but assumed your rightful mantle as their leader.”

“I only wish to lead a simple life,” Bard replied, running his fingers through the elf’s mane.

“You are the royal consort to an elvenking, and in a few months time you will become the father to an elf halfling child. Far from simple, my love.”

“Yes, I am aware,” Bard chided, sneaking a quick kiss from his lover’s lips. “But we have already discussed this, beloved. My people will rise up in a moment of their own choosing. They must find their inner strength to do so. And when they do, the Master will be no more.”

Thranduil sighed. “As you wish. But you come from a line of greatness Bard. It’s in your blood.”

Bard nodded. “Aye. It’s true that I’m a descendent of Girion, the last great lord of Däle.”

Thranduil resumed his comfortable position against the mortal’s chest, letting the soothing feeling of his hair being stroked wash over him. He spotted the bow he had gifted Bard months earlier, leaning near the bed. “Yes. And I suspect that the day we first met was no chance encounter. We were fated to meet and fall in love Bard—to do what our ancestors could not.”

Bard paused. “What do you mean?”

“You asked me long ago what the words engraved on your bow meant. _Dirian mell nín, ‘Law lîn síla sui Ithil. Guren nallatha nalú achenin le. Hodo vae._ I never knew the true meaning behind them—never knew the bow’s true importance in this world, until now.”

Thranduil recited what Galadriel had revealed to him, informing the mortal that his father Oropher had fallen in love with a mortal named Dirian, who happened to be an ancestor of Bard. Though they were in love, Oropher and Dirian foolishly never acted on their love, which led to Bard dying of a broken heart, and Oropher losing his life by rushing off to a war while consumed with anger.

“But before my father died, he crafted the bow in memory of Dirian, engraving on it; _‘My beloved Dirian: Your radiance shined like the moon. My heart shall weep until I see thee again. Rest well.’”_

“That’s beautiful,” Bard murmured. “How coincidental that such a treasured piece would come to my possession.”

“I do not believe in coincidences Bard. Fate has us firmly in its clutches. We were destined to be together—to right our predecessors’ wrongs. And we have been rewarded the most glorious way,” he said, gesturing to his distended belly.

Bard cupped him lovingly. “Undeniably. Though I do hope that Dirian and Oropher have found each other once more, in their next life.”

“I wish that as well. Hopefully they are together in the Halls of Mandos, forever entwined in each other’s embrace, just as we are now.”

Bard kissed the top of the elf’s head, settling back against his pillows. “Rest now, my love.”

A moment of silence passed between them. A soft breeze fluttered in from an open window, carrying with it the fragrant allure of the sea. Soft footsteps sounded above them, followed by three gentle knocks. Tauriel was keeping watch over them.

“I am thankful that I did not follow in my father’s foolish footsteps. That I did not deny myself the opportunity to find love again,” whispered Thranduil, letting his lids droop closed as he listened to the soft lull of his intended’s heartbeat.

The bargeman smiled, mouth poised in response, when he felt movement under his hands followed by periodic kicking. It was the first he’d felt yet.

“Our daughter thanks you as well.”

 

**TBC…**

 

 

TRANSLATION:

_Mae athollen meleth nín_

Welcome back my love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think? I hope you enjoyed this chappie! And yay Sigrid kicked! 
> 
> Next Chapter: The wedding and baby shower festivities, elven style (woohoo!) :)
> 
> I was also thinking of doing a reader's choice for the next chapter, so I want to hear from you!  
> Which of the following would you like to see (pick ONE):
> 
> A) Legolas gets drunk at the reception and asks Tauriel to marry him  
> B) Gandalf gives Thrandy and Bard a naughty wedding present  
> C) Bard trips on his robes and falls on his face during the wedding ceremony  
> D) Thranduil falls asleep during Saruman (or Celeborn's) speech
> 
> I can't wait to see what everyone chooses! :)


	14. When a Man Loves an Elf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I took so long to update! I was just cast in my second feature film, so I’ve been preparing for that in my free time. Hopefully this nice long chappie helps make up for my absence.
> 
> Also, I just realized that I made a mistake early on in this fic. I described Sigrid as being the oldest of Bard’s children, when in fact Bain is. Sorry for this terrible mix-up. Unfortunately the fic has progressed too far for me to fix this, but I still apologize and I hope this error doesn’t take away from the story. 
> 
> My musical inspiration for this chapter was "Land of the Free" by Adrian von Ziegler. I strongly encourage you to listen to that song while reading this chappie because its SOOOO beautiful, and Adrian is such a talented composer. I practically love all of his music. :) 
> 
> -CM
> 
> Un-Beta'd

The sun broke through the dense thicket of Greenwood trees to bask the Elvenking and his mortal intended in an array of warmth on their wedding day. It was a beautiful day in Laer, the beginning of the summer season. The flowers were fully in bloom, their fragrance filling the air, and for once the Greenwood looked and felt like it had before the war of old: peaceful and inviting.

All had ventured from different corners of Middle Earth to bear witness to the Elvenking pledging his heart to another. Most journeyed to wholeheartedly celebrate this wonderful occasion, while others came just to see if the rumors were true. Was it actually possible that Thranduil’s frozen heart had finally thawed? Was Thranduil actually bonding with a mortal? Was he carrying said mortal’s child? But no matter the questions that some had brewing away in their minds, no one could deny that it was a joyous occasion.

Galadriel and Celeborn travelled from Lothlorien, and Elrond along with some of his kin came from Rivendell. Gandalf came of course, but surprisingly he brought the leader of his order with him, Saruman the White. Even the dwarves from the iron hills paid the Greenwood a visit, their presence effectively establishing a truce between the two races that hasn’t been seen since prior to the destruction of Erebor by the fire beast Smaug.  Thorin himself did not come, but Lord Dain brought with him Thorin’s message of well wishes to the Elvenking and his betrothed, along with the most astounding of gifts….

Dain had requested a private audience with Thranduil before the ceremony, and though his kin offered a small round of protests, Thranduil waved them all away and met with the dwarf Lord in his inner chamber.

“Thank you for making the journey from the Iron Hills to share in this occasion with me Dain,” Thranduil said softly. There was an hour to go before the start of the ceremony, and Thranduil was still getting ready. He had just come from the bath and was having his hair braided when Dain’s arrival was announced. So now Thranduil currently sat on a small settee to hold an audience with him, draped only in a silver robe. It parted itself down the middle when he sat, exposing his bare legs from the tops of his knees down to the point of his toes. Dain coughed, and tried to focus on a part of the elf that was less tantalizing.

His eyes landed on Thranduil’s bulging stomach. “So tis true: ye carry the lad’s babe?”

Subconsciously, the elf cupped his stomach. “Yes. There are many reasons to celebrate today.”

“Aye,” Dain replied, fidgeting slightly under his companion’s unblinking stare.

Thranduil smiled at him when he didn’t say more. “It is a rare occurrence to find the mighty Dain at a loss for words.” When the dwarf did nothing more than grumble at him and call him a pretty sprite under his breath, his smile exploded into a charming giggle. Dain could only stare on himself as he listened to Thranduil laugh. The sound was so enchanting that for a moment, the dwarf had completely forgotten why he sought the elf out in the first place.

In all the centuries he had known Thranduil, Dain had never heard him laugh or carry on in such joyful spirits before. When they met to carryout trade relations and other diplomatic affairs, Thranduil’s face was always impenetrably blank— neither happy, nor sad or angry, just void of all emotions. He was always just an impassive mask of beauty that preferred the company of his kingdom and his own kin. But now here Thranduil was, branching out in ways no one thought possible. Perhaps pregnancy did that to him—opened him up. Or maybe the mortal lad he was shacking up with was the culprit behind the changed elf before him.

Either way, the change was good.

Dain snapped out of his thoughts when he felt nimble fingers tickling the underside of his beard. He gently swatted the offending hand away, but that just made Thranduil chuckle harder. Eventually Dain joined in and together they were a laughing pair in the otherwise quiet room.

“It is truly good to have you here Dain, and on friendly terms. There was a time long ago when we thought of each as nothing less.”

“Aye. A time we’ll surely move back to. For the sake of both our kingdoms.”

 The elf tilted his head in acquiescence. “Though perhaps you could have left your armor at home,” said the Elvenking, gesturing to the dwarf’s iron regalia.

“Ol’ habits,” Dain shrugged.

Thranduil just hummed.

“Anyways, Let’s not keep yer lad and all the others from seein’ the blushin’ bride. I just came t’tell ye that me ol cousin Thorin wishes ye well, and he hopes ye’d accept a lil gift from ‘im. Said t’was one of the few things he managed t’grab before that ol’ fire spittin worm wrecked the place. And don’t ask me why he waited so long t’give it to ye. Us dwarves are a stubborn lot, of’en clueless. Bricks fer brains and all that,” Dain trailed off with a sheepish smile.

Thranduil gasped when Dain opened the small wooden box that he carried in his calloused hands, pulling back the soft velvet cloth to reveal what he’d thought for many years was long, long lost. White gems of the purist starlight, stung on the finest silver ever harvested from the earth.

The White Gems of Lasgalen.

Thranduil frowned, running his finger over the gems with extreme care. “I don’t know what to say,” he whispered. “Thorin never told me. Never said a word.”

“Ahh the poor boy was strugglin. Was hurtin. All ‘is people wiped out in less than a day. And he thought he 'ad no friends. But he and I did a bit of talkin. Tried to get ‘im to see things in a diff’rent light. So take this as proof he 'as.” He handed the box over to Thranduil’s eager hands, not noticing that the elf had tears pooling in his eyes until they made eye contact moments later.

“But I abandoned him when he needed help most. Til this day it has been my biggest regret.”

“Well get o’er it luv. Thorin ain’t mad wit ye no more. There’s no reason t’be. Smaug was going t’come and burn the place wit or witout ye being there. There was no sense in more people dyin. Ye both were young kings witout a clue as t’how te run things. But the two of ye have the need te survive in common. Thorin gets it now. And he hopes this little trinket will help wipe the slate clean fer ye both.”

Thranduil nodded, tears running freely now. A weight he was carrying was suddenly lifted from his shoulders. “It will Dain. It most certainly will.”

“Good. And when the time comes t'take care of that giant worm, we'll do it t'gether,” said Dain, reaching into the box and lifting the necklace free. He opened the clasp and gestured to Thranduil’s neck. “May I?”

The Elvenking pulled his hair up, baring his neck. The jewels felt cold as they came into contact with his skin, but they soon warmed up, becoming an irremovable part of him. Her let his hair cascade over his shoulders once more.

“Yer wife ne’er got the chance to wear ‘em, but today ye could do it fer ‘er. Flash em about on yer big day in mem’ry of ‘er. Past meetin future and all that philosophical mumbo jumbo.”

“You dwarves and your gift of eloquent speech.”

Dain laughed. “Ye watch yer tongue, woodland sprite.” He looked over the elf: plump with child, glowing like the sun, and now adorned with shiny jewels. “Ye always were a pretty thing,” he said with a dreamy sigh.

They continued to chat for a few minutes, trading friendly barbs and jokes with one another. Catching up as old friends did. Eventually they were interrupted by Thranduil’s servants who were tasked with preparing their king for his wedding. Dain acquiesced and began his departure back to the awaiting guests. But as he made it to the door, he turned back. 

“Before I go, I have a favor t’ask of ye.”

 

*****

Though Dain had arrived with the wooden jewelry box in hand, he left with something he considered to be an even greater treasure. He grinned to himself and tucked three silver strands of hair into his inner coat pocket.

 

*****

 

Bard smiled as elven servants fitted him in his robes and prepared him for the ceremony, but mentally he was not focused. All he could think about was how surreal everything was. He was about to marry a pregnant elf king in just a short while, whereas nearly a year prior he had only a simple, quiet life in his sights. And a simple life was all he ever desired: living in a house big enough for himself, performing hard labor to earn his living, washing himself and his worn-out clothes in the solitude of the river. That was Bard’s slice of paradise—his world.

The bargeman looked down at the emerald green and silver robes he now wore. At the silver trimmed leather boots on his feet. At the moonstone rings on nearly all of his fingers. At the plain, thin crown on his head. This was Thranduil’s world.

But was he ready to share it? To become part of something much bigger than he’d ever known before?

He wasn’t sure.

 

******

Later when the music played, and the grand doors opened to reveal his beloved staring at him with twinkling eyes and a wide smile, Bard had his answer. Because there was only ever one.

 

 Yes.

 

******

 

The delicate sound of harps and flutes playing signaled the beginning of the ceremony. It took place on the vast balcony on the east wing of the Greenwood kingdom. It was the side that overlooked the Lonely Mountain in the distance. The entire balcony was decorated with bright green vines and fragrant white flowers. Similarly the chairs were draped with white ribbons and flowers, and one by one each guest took their seats, gazes firmly on the doorway in which the wedding party would enter. Beautiful maiden elves began to sing a soft, melodious song, their voices drifting amongst the breeze to caress the ears of everyone in attendance.

Bard had already made his way through and was currently standing at the head of the aisle next to Elrond, who was tasked to officiate the union. He was exchanging friendly words with the mortal in Elvish, gesturing around them and whispering that today was a fortuitous day for a wedding. Bard responded enthusiastically, his nervousness from before now completely vanished.

The precession soon quieted all the talk. The Lady Galadriel was the first to enter, leading the lot in a pale blue hooded dress. She carried within her hands a chalice made of gold and bejeweled with the shiniest rubies in all the land. She made eye contact with Bard and immediately he was frozen on the spot. Even now he still upheld that Thranduil was the most beautiful elf, but gods above! Galadriel was a close second.

Bard was startled by the sudden sound of a feminine giggle in his head. He never saw her lips move, never heard the giggle aloud, but he swore that the sound came from her. She dipped her head slowly as a greeting of honor, her eyes twinkling in amusement.

 Behind her came Legolas, who had swapped his usual dress for clothes tailored and trimmed with silver. He wore a thin crown on his head and carried with him only a bow on his back. The Elvenking had chosen only one Elvin maid to proceed him, and thus Tauriel journeyed up the aisle behind Legolas sprinkling white rose petals from a woven basket all around her. Few had ever seen her don a dress, but there she was in a soft blue v-neck dress with a thin belt of rope around her waist. Her red hair was plaited to the side and adorned by a headdress of white roses. Her smile was radiant enough to brighten the darkest of rooms on a gloomy day, but the figure behind her stole the show.

Once the precession parted off to either side of Elrond and the awaiting groom, the figure of Thranduil came into view. And he was simply breathtaking.  His blonde hair was divided into little braids which were intertwined with each other, threaded through with little silver bells, and fasted with a jeweled broach. Atop his head was yet another crown Bard had never seen before; silver leaves and moonstones laid together in an elaborate pattern. He forewent his usual rings—all of his usual jewelry in fact—except for a necklace that was nearly as extraordinary as he was and made a few guests gasp on sight. It made for a striking contrast against the emerald green, long sleeved kaftan-style dress that he wore that was made of silk and lace. It elegantly trailed being him for nearly twenty paces. Bard smiled. Trust Thranduil to go big. Although he half expected his beloved to wear white…

As if hearing his thoughts, Elrond leaned over and whispered; “Green is a fitting choice. It represents not only our lush season currently, but also of good fortunes that awaits us on the morrow. A beautiful color indeed, to swath such an esteemed life-giver in our clan,” he said with a nod. Bard wordlessly agreed, taking note of the gentle way Thranduil cupped his belly as he made his way up the aisle.

Bard reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind a pointed ear, brushing the smooth skin of Thranduil’s cheek with the back of his hand. “ _Le bainon,”_ he murmured, transfixed.

Hand in hand, they knelt before the altar, heads bowed. At once the music and singing stopped, and silence rang throughout.  Elrond stepped forward. “We are all gathered here to bear witness on this joyous occasion. Elves, Dwarves, Wizards, and Men; the best from all corners of Middle Earth gathered in one place is awe inspiring. Our ancestors long parted from this world, would look upon us and smile proudly. We were all brought together under the pull of love shared by the two souls knelt before me. May we honor them and their union on this day, as they are ushered into a life of eternal happiness and prosperity.”

Elrond stepped forward and gently touched the top of Thranduil’s head. The blonde gazed up at him, face fully content. “You and I have known each other for a millennia. Brothers we are in everything but blood. _Gwador nín._ I have had the pleasure of laughing with you, breaking bread with you, fighting by your side, and of mourning with you,” he said, trailing off at the last one. He bowed his head in silence for a moment, and everyone else followed suit, instinctually knowing that the Elvenlord was referring to Thranduil’s late wife.

“I have had the pleasure of officiating many weddings throughout the years, but to act as cleric in your wedding Thranduil, invokes a lasting honor deep within me. That you have chosen to give your heart to another after years of solitude is remarkable, and all in attendance today would agree that your choice in a mate is a fine one indeed.”

Elrond turned to Bard, touching his head and locking eyes. “Throughout your upcoming years, you will encounter many in life who will question how it was that an elf and a mortal came to fall in love. Forgive them. Those who will question are those who do not know the greatness in Men. You are an exceptional mortal Bard. Your courage and generosity knows no bounds and you possess wisdom far older than your years. You hail from a robust lineage of men, many of which had accomplished astounding feats before they were lain to rest. You Bard, shall be no different. And though the gods have yet to give their judgment on the matter, I say this: never shall there be a truer match before me than Thranduil and Bard, King of the Woodland Realm, and Royal Consort,” Elrond proclaimed, eliciting a round of cheers from the crowd.

Galadriel came forth. She held the wide mouth of the chalice in her two hands, setting it on the floor between the pair. Thranduil looked indifferent at the sight of it, but Bard was curious. As passionate as elves were about their wine, Bard half expected to see the giant cup filled with a deep red liquid. Instead to his surprise, it was water.

“In Lothlorien,” she began, “I am the keeper of The Mirror: the gateway into the realm of truth. Gazing into its waters can reveal things that were, and things that are, and things that yet may be.” She gestured to the cup. “This chalice has been filled with such water. Look into the mirror, my children. Let it show you all that lay in wait of your future…and if in your future, you see each other.”

With that, the pair leaned forward and gazed into the cup, reaching for each other and threading their fingers together.

 

*****

At first, nothing happened. Bard sat there, holding onto his beloved without a clue as to what to expect. He felt a little silly staring into a cup of water, instantly getting antsy. Was he supposed to have his eyes closed? No, that wouldn’t make sense as Galadriel instructed Thranduil and himself to look into the cup. Maybe he was supposed to count backwards from five and then really stare into the water?  Was this even the right water? The more Bard thought about it, the more he began to fidget. Did this mean that he was not meant to join with the Elvenking? Galadriel didn’t mention anything about _not_ being able to see any visions. What would that mean if he was unable to see anything? Would the wedding be off? Would Thranduil leave him? What about their child?

His sudden onslaught of thoughts was seconds away from driving him crazy, if were not for the gentle squeeze of his hand and the soothing caress of Thranduil’s thumb rubbing patterns into his skin. It was so simple, lasted just a few seconds, but it was everything. Meant everything. He wanted to break his stare from the water—look up at Thranduil with a big smile and voice just how much he loved him. But at that moment, the water began to swirl, and he was instantly pulled in.

 

_*****_

_The visions swirled around, showing the mortal a glimpse of one event before jumping to another. But he saw many, many wonderful things._

_Of Thranduil spying on Bard atop his barge, weeks before they had met in person._

_Their first kiss in the woods._

_Bard smiled down at the Elvenking, pulling his limbs free from his wedding robes and ravishing every inch of exposed skin._

_Bard chopping wood in the forest, while Thranduil’s kin bustled around him, moving timber._

_Then a little elf halfling running around in one of the Greenwood kingdom’s many gardens, brunette curls bouncing as she laughed and ran around trying to evade capture._

_The married couple lying in bed; Bard significantly older if the graying at the temples meant anything. Thranduil was asleep, as well as the two children nestled between them. A boy and a girl, perhaps ages ten and six, were deep in the land of dreams, mouths open and curled together tightly in a cluster of limbs. Thranduil had a hand wrapped around them both, but was unable to get too close due to the swell of his protruding belly. That was the last thing that the Bard in the vision saw before he too drifted off to sleep, and the last thing the real Bard saw before he was ushered back into reality._

*****

 

When he came to, Bard noticed that the chalice was now gone. Galadriel was standing before them, the hood of her robes pulled back to reveal her smile. With arms raised, she addressed all in attendance. “The Gods have blessed Thranduil and Bard on this day!”

 

*****

Bard and Thranduil were then ushered into a pair of throne-like chairs that were constructed specifically for their wedding, and decorated with vines. They had approached the part of the ceremony where various guests would step forward and tell wonderful stories about them, and read passages from sacred texts pertaining to marriage. Legolas recited when he first discovered that his father had fallen in love with Bard, and how he stressed Thranduil to act on his feelings. Then Celeborn and a few others stepped forward to deliver speeches, the sound of incessant talking becoming a steady sound.

And then Saruman the White stepped forward with a heavy tome in hand, and Thranduil felt his eyes begin to droop in anticipation of hearing his droll voice.

“I take my text today, from the book of the Quendi, the first elves of Middle Earth. As children of Iluvatar, they are still considered to be the wisest race of Arda.  Though they have long since departed from this realm, their wisdom has since been contained within this book. So naturally, I shall read works from this book  alone, as to read from any other book would not be wise. I shall start on page ten, and end my reading today on page one hundred and forty-eight,” said Saruman as he opened the book, and blew dust from the pages.

A sudden noise an hour later made the white wizard pause. He looked up and frowned. There was Thranduil slumped against his chair, eyes closed and mouth open. A bit of drool had formed in the corner of his mouth and he was letting out the softest of snores.

Bard, who had fallen into a daze, was roused from it when the talking stopped. Upon the glare coming from Saruman, he gently nudged his beloved.  

Thranduil sat up with a start. The white wizard sniffed. “Would you be as so good to remain awake during your own wedding Thranduil?”

The Elvenking returned the glare, but said nothing. Saruman returned his gaze to his text. “Now, on to page seventy-four…”

 

*****

The couple gathered at the altar again, and Elrond stepped forward once more. With him was his daughter Arwen who held across her palms a satin pillow with two rings placed atop it. Elrond took the first ring, one made of silver with a white diamond nestled between two emeralds, and handed it to the Elvenking even though he addressed Bard. “Do you come here Bard, to be made one with Thranduil?”

“I do, for he is the light within my heart,” said Bard. He held out his hand for Thranduil to slip on the ring.

Elrond held out the next ring to Bard, a ruby nestled between two blue topaz stones, while addressing his kin. “Do you come here Thranduil, to be made one with Bard?”

“I do, for he is the light within my heart,” he replied, holding out his hand to the bowman. The ring felt so natural upon his finger and represented Bard in the best way: a ruby for his mortal blood and blue topaz to signify the waters he was so fond of.

Elrond laid Bard’s hand over Thranduil’s. “We call upon the gods of the old once more to bless your union. First we call upon Barthan, the world maker.  May you hear our thanks for blessing us with the land we call our home."

“Barthan, bless us on our new path,” the couple said together.

“Next, we shall call upon Gilthoniel, Queen of the Stars. May you hear our thanks for blessing us with the light in the night sky—our guide amongst the darkness.”

“Gilthoniel, bless us on our new path.”

“We call next upon the goddess Yavanna, the giver of fruit. May you hear our thanks for blessing us with nourishment throughout our days.”

“Yavanna, bless us on our new path.”

“And finally, let us call upon Mandos, the Master of Death. May you hear our plea to remain at bay within your halls so that the pair before us may live out their days in peace and happiness.”

“Mandos, bless us on our new path.”

“Now I understand that Bard and Thranduil have written their own vows. Gentlemen,” Elrond said with a nod.

Bard went first. “Thranduil, if I tried to encompass all of my love for you within words, then I fear I shall run out before I am finished. You are perfection on this earth, a radiant star that has taken on an elven appearance in my opinion. You are too good for me. But even so, I will not give you up. Instead, I shall spend all of my days being the best husband I can be, and the greatest father as well. I will give you succor on your darkest days, and heal you whenever you’re in pain. I pledge to be your closest friend, and most trusted consultant. So I shall take thee, Thranduil Woodland King, to have and to hold for all eternity, unless our paths should ever part.  With this, I plight thee my troth.”

Elrond gestured for Thranduil to speak next. “Bard, love has never come easily in my life. Once you’ve experienced the loss of a loved one, it is hard to ever open up your heart again. But fate has given you to me, and with a great amount of courage, I have done just that. I have never looked back. You have inspired me to be more than I’ve ever been, and each day you push me to not only be a better king, but a better person. It is you, who is too good for me. But as you said, I will not give you up either. Instead, I shall strive to be the best husband I can be to you, and gift you with as many children as you desire. I will give you succor on your darkest days, and heal you whenever you’re in pain. I pledge to be your closest friend, and most trusted consultant. So I shall take thee, Bard of Laketown, to have and to hold for all eternity, unless our paths should ever part.  With this, I plight thee my troth.”

Elrond beamed. “Then upon my oath as officiate, I now pronounce you bound together in this life, and in the next. May your lives flourish now and forever more, just as all living creatures in Middle Earth. You may now solidify your union with a kiss.”

As they lips touched, Legolas loaded an arrow to his bow and shot it upwards at a small crate hanging high above them. It broke apart into tiny splinters, releasing the multi-colored butterflies within.

They fluttered around the couple as they continued to kiss.

 

*****

 

Hours later, the newlyweds were seated together on a stone bench, overseeing the festivities. The elves knew how to throw a good party. Everywhere they looked there was dancing, feasting, and plenty of drinking going on.  But one sight in particular caught Bard’s eye and he let out a laugh as he pointed to a spectacle across the balcony. “What do you think is going on over there?”

Thranduil lifted his head from his husband shoulder. Standing near one of the banquet tables was Tauriel, Lord Dain, Elrond’s daughter Arwen and her betrothed Aragorn. In their small circle was Legolas holding a pitcher of wine and talking adamantly while using his hands to articulate his words. That would have gone unnoticed, except for the fact that he was swaying on his feet like a sunflower bending in the breeze, and every time he gestured with his hands, he was sending wine flying in all directions.

Thranduil sighed. “Who gave Legolas wine? Honestly, he should know better,” he said as he made to get up.

Bard kept him seated with a firm hand on his shoulder. “I thought it takes quite a bit of wine to make elves loose-lipped and weak willed.”

“It does. Our tolerance for drink runs incredibly high which is why our wine runs as strong as it does. But when I said that Legolas should know better, I was not implying that he should refrain from alcohol altogether, but only when there is a dwarf among us,” he said amusedly, pointing to the little lord in their midst. He was snickering at the commotion Legolas was causing, using the distraction to discreetly tuck a silver flask back into one of his many inner pockets.

“I shudder to think how many years Dain’s had that particular concoction brewing.” Thranduil caught Dain’s eye, and wagged his finger at him while mouthing ‘naughty’. That just made the Dain bellow in laughter, shoulders rumbling as he walked off in search of Gandalf.

“Well if my _stepson_ can barely handle it, I shall stay away from it altogether,” said Bard. He told his pregnant husband to remain put while made his way over to the spirited elf prince.

“What’s going on here?” he asked with a grin.

Legolas swung around to face him and nearly toppled over in the process. “DADDY!” He wrapped an arm around Bard’s shoulder. “Everyone, this is my new father…stepfather…daddy…stepdaddy? I don’t know. But this man is great!” He gave Bard a lopsided smile. “I’m so happy you’re here dad! But where’s _Ada_? Has he fallen asleep again? Let me wake him,” said Legolas, taking a deep breath. Bard had to clamp a hand over Legolas’ mouth when he started screaming for Thranduil.

“ _Baw Legolas. Nan Belain! Tiro_ ,” he said, pointing to the Elvenking who was trying desperately to hide his amusement behind his hand.

Legolas waived frantically at the king. “Hi _Ada_ ,” he exclaimed like a child who had just spotted his father after hours of being away. But then he looked to Bard again, brow scrunched in thought. “Is it true that you love _Ada?”_

“Yes it is,” the bowman responded proudly.

“Would you marry him?”

“Yes,” Bard said slowly. “In fact I already did… the wedding was today…a short while ago… you were there.”

 “Good. Good,” Legolas nodded. He beckoned Bard closer. “When did you know you loved him?”

“The moment I helped him at the river. He was snarky and a right bastard, but I was forever tethered to him from that point on.”

“Yeah, I think I was too,” Legolas whispered. Or he thought he whispered. Aragorn and Arwen, and a few others standing near the table had heard him too if the snickering was anything to go by.

“To Thranduil?”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Legolas, taking a swig from the pitcher. “To someone else behind me,” he gestured with a dramatic head nod. “I think I knew the moment I fell in love. Love, oh wicked love. It is in the air today and I am overcome,” he yelled out. By now a small crowd had gathered around the young elf, including the heavily pregnant Thranduil. “ _Ada_ you’re here too! Thanks for waking up because I have an announcement to make,” he ended in a yell. He walked over to the table and grabbed a ladle to bang the pitcher with. “Everyone gather around because I have something to say.”

“I am going to kill Dain,” Thranduil grumbled.

“Wait til tomorrow my dear,” said Bard with a peck to his lips.

“Hear ye, Hear ye! We have all gathered around today to celebrate daddy number one getting married to daddy number two. And what an amazing wedding that was! Honestly everything was splendid, especially the food. Seriously, try the bread. But aside from that, their wedding was nothing, if not inspiring,” said Legolas, pausing again to drink from the pitcher. When he discovered it was empty, he shrugged and tossed it over his shoulder. “Because I too am in love. I have been for a while and it is high time that I tell her.” With closed eyes, Legolas walked over and grabbed the hand of his beloved, pressing it to his face. “Tauriel, maiden of the forest, you mean the entire world to me. You are the only thought on my mind when I rise in the morning, and the last thing I think of before turning in for the night. Your hair is so red. W-why is that? And I love how you like to kill things. Mostly spiders and orcs. Nothing soft and cuddly like baby deer or anything. Anyways, my love for you knows no bounds, and on this day, in front of all these witnesses, I ask that you do me the honor of becoming my warrior woman! And also my wife,” said Legolas. He jumped after a few moments of silence when someone suddenly tapped him on the shoulder and tilted his head up. But then he had an even bigger scare when he opened his eyes to find that he held Aragorn’s hand, not Tauriel’s.

The crowd erupted into a fit of giggles, but the blond prince paid them no mind. He kissed Aragorn’s hand with a mumbled apology and crawled over to the real elf of his affections. “Tauriel…everything I said one minute ago still applies. Marry me?”

The redhead tried to hide her equally reddened face behind her free hand. “ _Hir nin_ Legolas,” she said desperately while trying to coax him up from the ground. She gave in when he wouldn’t budge. “You are a fool, but yes I shall marry you.” Everyone clapped and patted them on the shoulders. Tauriel smiled and gave a little wave, but as soon as Legolas was once again upright, she pulled him close until their noses touched. “But when you awake sober on the morrow and realize that you proposed in error, I will use you for target practice.”

Legolas gulped. “Yes ma’am.”

“That is the elven way,” said someone in the crowd.

Tauriel made eye contact with the Elvenking and took a step back. “Of course, such a wedding cannot take place without approval from our king.”

All eyes turned to Thranduil. “Yes…well a year ago I would have rejected the idea outright on account of your Silvan heritage. However to do so now, would label me a hypocrite,” he said smoothly, sending a brief smile Bard’s way. “I am a newfound believer that love comes in many forms. Therefore, you both have my blessing.” He rolled his eyes at his son who looked seconds away from passing out. “I shall repeat what I just said to you in the morning Legolas. Now, before we prepare for another royal wedding celebration, can we first continue with mine?”

At least Tauriel had the decency to look sheepish. Legolas probably would have done the same if it were not for him losing consciousness just then, snoring loudly before he ever touched the floor.

 

*****

Galadriel stood next to Thranduil when he was unattended for a moment. He didn’t have to guess why she came over. “My vision earlier, when Bard and I looked into the chalice, did you see it?”

“Yes,” she answered softly.

They shared a look of trepidation. “So be it.”

 

*****

 

The festivities carried on afterwards. Thranduil was brought over to a lone chair specifically decorated with flowers and colored ribbons that signified the birth of new life. Dozens of elf maidens dressed in white were dancing in circles all around him, keeping pace with the lively flute music playing. One by one they would stop to place either white calla lilies by his feet, or thread baby’s breath flowers into his hair. Then they would place a hand atop his protruding belly in blessing before moving on. It was a great honor to have his people cherish his unborn daughter in such a way, but after the first few dozen maidens, Thranduil grew tired. He saved face until the very last maiden had fluttered away and he resembled a flower bush, but he couldn’t deny the increasing desire to retreat to his rooms with his new husband.

But alas, there were still gifts to be received. Damn.

Bard came to stand next to him as guests handed them their gifts. Nearly an hour later, Thranduil had unwrapped close to fifty presents. Most consisted of silk clothes and dressing gowns small enough to fit the baby when she was born. Then there were various jewels, and ancient texts that she could read from as she grew older.  Elrond had given a baby rattle made of pure silver and a scroll of ancient divinations yet to come. Galadriel gave the future princess a vile of starlight to soothe her fears at night.

Gandalf gave….a gift not pertaining to the baby at all. Thranduil had opened the plainly wrapped box expecting to see something similar to all of the other presents. Instead, what he saw shocked him so much that his eyebrows nearly climbed off his face. He let Bard look for a brief moment and then slammed the box shut before anyone else could catch a glimpse of the contents.

Bard looked equally shocked. “That is quite a gift Gandalf.”

The old wizard looked quite pleased with himself. “Yes, I thought as much. May married life together new grow dull,” he said happily as he puffed away at his pipe.

“Yes, well with this thing Mithrandir, it surely shan’t,” replied Thranduil.

“I have charmed it to move when desired. You just have to tap on the base when you want to adjust the setting—”Gandalf started up again before the Elvenking cut him off.

“That is quite alright Mithrandir. I’m sure Bard and I will be able to figure it out at a later time. Much later,” he grumbled the last part under his breath.

Bard heard him though and leaned in close. “Not too much later I hope,” he said with a wink.

Gandalf just looked at the couple with a twinkle of mirth in his eyes.

 

*****

 

Halfway through Gandalf’s fireworks, and long after night had settled in, Bard and Thranduil took their leave. They bid everyone thanks for attending, and ensured those who planned to stay in the palace that they would be well looked after once the party was over. Then they were guided down the narrow halls by a few trusted servants who accompanied them as they went in separate directions to prepare for their first night together as king and consort. They were bathed quickly and fragrant oils were rubbed into their skin. Thranduil was dressed in a wispy thin night shirt that barely fell to his knees due to his raised belly. His hair was washed and re-braided into a loose single plait. A tray of fruit, cheese and wine was placed on the table near his bed, along with a bowl of oil, and then his servants left him to await Bard’s arrival.

The latter sauntered in a few minutes later wearing nothing but a red sarong and a wide smile. “I missed you husband,” said Bard. He looked over the blonde who was reclined on the bed, long, bare legs fully on display. “Did you miss me?”

“Every second,” Thranduil purred.

“Then perhaps I should join you in that massive bed of yours?” He made like he was going to do that, but on the last moment turned and headed for the tray of food. He munched on a strawberry.

Thranduil was less than pleased. “Is this what our marriage will be like Bard? Me waiting and wanting in our marriage bed while you stuff your face with fruit?”

Bard shrugged.  “It is rather good fruit. You should try one,” he said, finally walking towards the bed, but with a giant strawberry in hand. He crawled up to Thranduil, tempting him to take a bite by brushing the ripe fruit across the elf’s bottom lip. He chewed and swallowed, licking his lips wantonly, making Bard blush heavily.

“You’re right husband, the fruit is rather good. But right now I crave something else on my tongue.”

“What’s that?”

Thranduil ran his nose along the expanse of Bard’s neck. “Your seed,” he said, slipping his hand beneath the sarong and stroking the hard length he found there.

Bard moaned. “While that is a tantalizing thought, I suggest we revisit that activity at a later time. Right now I would rather us consummate our marriage the traditional way.”

Thranduil smiled and spread his legs invitingly before looking down at the mound of his belly doubtfully. “I don’t think I will be able to accommodate you this way.”

“Then I shall mount you from behind,” said Bard. He helped Thranduil roll over onto his hands and knees, supporting him and their unborn child with pillows. Once the elf was settled, Bard sat back on his ankles and viewed the site before him. His husband’s pert behind was completely exposed to his hungry gaze. With gentle hands, Bard pried his cheeks apart, revealing a delicious pink hole. He dragged the flat of his tongue across the puckered entrance, repeating the actions with a vigor when Thranduil howled out in delight. “You always taste so sweet. Like that rose water you bathe in,” Bard mumbled. Pointing his tongue, he plunged it into Thranduil’s passage, fucking him open slowly and getting him wet.

In time, his hole was loose enough that Bard could sink two, then three fingers in with ease. “If you don’t get a move on, I shall find someone else who will,” Thranduil growled. From what Bard could see, a light sheen had formed on the Elvenking’s forehead, and he was panting with need. Still, the bowman didn’t have to put up with such taunts. He swatted one of Thranduil’s cheeks hard enough to leave print. “I thought elves pride themselves on patience as a virtue,” he said with a laugh.

“Not now,” the elf responded through gritted teeth. He was rewarded with a slap to the other cheek.  “Please Bard,” he moaned. “I need your cock in me now. I can’t last another moment.”

The mortal groaned at the sound of his beloved begging and decided to put him out of his misery. He ripped off the sarong, tossing it carelessly aside. Dipping his fingers in the oil, he quickly slicked his cock before pushing in with a single, hard thrust. Thranduil cried out when his husband gripped his hips and set a fast, hard pace, knowing just how he liked to be fucked. “Yes Bard, just like that. Get your cock in as deep as you can,” he grunted, pushing back to meet him halfway.

“You’re always such a needy thing when you’re getting a pounding. A true whore for my cock, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Thranduil whimpered.  “Faster Bard. I’m nearly there,” he whined. He never needed to touch himself when they joined together.

“I’ll give you what you need,” the mortal said as he switched his angle and drove back in with a vengeance, pounding the blonde’s pleasure spot dead on relentlessly. A few seconds of that and Thranduil was crying out, ribbons of cum painting his belly and soaking his night shirt. He clenched around Bard so tightly when he came, squeezing the cock within him,  ripping the mortal’s orgasm from his loins with a roar.

Thranduil panted as his husband’s hot seed filled him, scalding him in the best way. His thighs quivered as Bard slammed in a few more times, making sure he received every last drop. “To married life,” Bard said as he pulled out. He maneuvered them both until they were lying on their sides on the bed, his chest to Thranduil’s back.

The elf hummed, and tipped his head back for a leisurely kiss. “To married life.”

 

**TBC….**

 

**Translations**

_Le bainon_

You are so beautiful

_Gwador nin_

My Sworn Brother

_Baw Legolas. Nan Belain! Tiro_

No Legolas. By the Gods! Look

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? :)  
> Sorry if Leggy was a bit OCC in this chapter. I didn’t mean for him to be, but honestly if you were as drunk as he was, you’d probably act just as crazy and say some really weird sh*t, lol.
> 
> I also couldn't help myself. I always loved the whole "three hairs" thing in Lord of the Rings, so I just had to recreate it here, but with Dain and Thrandy instead.
> 
> And just in case anyone was wondering, Thranduil and Bard had their own separate visions when looking into the chalice. What Thrandy saw will be explained at a later date. 
> 
> Much love peeps!
> 
> -CM


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